Lord Soth
Page 12
Just then, a loud call came from somewhere to his left. He headed in that direction, the pointed tip of his sword leading the way.
After leaving the elderly elf-woman behind, Soth quickly came upon two more ogres, one a black-haired giant standing a head taller than Soth himself, the other red-headed and somewhat shorter than the first, perhaps even equal in height to Soth.
The black-haired ogre was holding an elf-maiden in his arms, moving his great thick-fingered hands over her seemingly lifeless body. If the elf-maiden was dead, Soth vowed, the ogre’s death would be slow and painful. The red-headed ogre seemed to be asleep on the ground on the other side of a large log. He was of little concern to Soth.
Soth decided to battle the black-haired ogre first and charged headlong in that direction.
Seeing Soth approaching, the ogre dropped the elf-maiden onto the soft layer of humus covering the forest floor. In another second he was up on both feet, sword before him and ready to fight. The ogre wielded a heavy clabbard style of sword, a type of weapon most often used by minotaurs, but just as easily wielded by large and powerful ogres. Soth noticed the weapon, saw the cutting edge backed with a serrated saw-toothed edge that could cut through his leather armor with ease, and suddenly became more cautious. Obviously, these ogres were much fiercer warriors than the ones they’d encountered in Halton. These were nomadic marauders, used to fighting—and defeating—an assortment of foes.
That fact was evidenced as Soth realized that this ogre wasn’t about to show Soth any amount of respect or proceed with any caution. He lumbered forward, swinging his clabbard sword as easily as Soth might wield a dagger.
Soth held out his sword in an attempt to slow the ogre’s progress, but to no avail. The ogre kept charging, forcing Soth to leap to the side. He was almost out of the way, but was caught by the ogre’s shoulder. The hard impact sent Soth flying backward through the air. He landed with a hard thump that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
As Soth clambered to get back to his feet, he felt his clenched hands gather up soft dirt and leaves from the forest floor. For a moment he considered blinding the ogre by throwing the mix into his eyes, but decided the tactic was too foul and very much beneath him. Instead he found a large rock about half the size of a loaf of bread and picked it up. Then as the ogre made a second charge, Soth threw the rock at the ogre’s head.
The rock’s flight was true, and when it hit the ogre’s forehead, the sound it made reminded Soth of solid rock colliding with solid rock.
Following the blow, the ogre stumbled a few more steps then stopped, blinking several times as if unsure where he was. Soth let out a slight sigh of relief and felt pleased with himself at recalling the squire’s second rule. Simply stated it was this: No matter how well-armed or armored an opponent is, he can still be killed by a simple blow to the head.
This ogre wasn’t dead yet, but he was dazed.
Severely so.
The ogre staggered forward, then back, then forward again. Soth followed his path for a few moments, then decided he’d had enough. With the ogre so incapacitated, it was a simple matter to run the beast through with his sword.
When the fallen ogre was lying still on the ground, Soth moved forward to take a better look at the creature.
He took one step …
And was sent hurtling forward by a heavy blow to the small of his back. As Soth tripped over the fallen black-haired ogre, he realized he’d forgotten about the red-headed one sleeping on the other side of the log. When Soth hit the ground, he did his best to roll and rise up to his feet, but several of his ribs were bruised and any sudden movements sent pain shooting up through his body.
Yet despite the pain, he somehow made it onto his feet and managed to turn and face his attacker.
Thankfully the red-headed ogre was the smaller of the two. But even so, Soth would have been hard-pressed to defeat the ogre at the best of times. Now, with his bruised, or perhaps even broken ribs, the ogre would prove to be more than a match for him.
“The forest is full of Knights of Solamnia,” said Soth, hoping to scare the ogre off and avoid having to fight him at close quarters. “If you turn and run now, you’ll be able to leave this forest with your life.”
The ogre simply laughed, a loud mocking call that boomed through the woods. Soth said nothing, hoping the ogre’s laugh would rally the knights around him.
But as the seconds passed, Soth began to get the feeling that he was alone in this fight. Very well then, he thought, raising his sword to confront the beast.
The ogre also carried a sword, one that was slightly wider and longer than Soth’s own. Usually this would put Soth at a disadvantage, but it appeared that the ogre was unable to wield the weapon without the use of both hands, which might be enough to tip the balance in Soth’s favor.
“Only one way to find out,” he muttered, moving forward to confront the beast.
Almost at once their swords came together, clanging and singing as they banged and scraped against one another with each mighty blow. Soth quickly realized that it would be impossible for him to match the ogre blow-for-blow. Instead he began moving left and right in order to avoid having to counter as many blows as possible. Soon the ogre began to tire, his movements becoming wilder and wilder with each progressively sluggish swing of his sword.
Frustrated, the ogre held his sword before him and charged at Soth, most likely hoping to get close enough to render their swords useless and to force them to switch to wrestling and barehanded fighting. Needless to say, Soth wanted no part of that, given that he was in no condition to try and kill an ogre with his bare hands.
So, as the ogre came toward him, he ducked down to the ground, falling on his hands and knees and turning himself into an obstacle too large for the ogre to avoid.
Soth winced in pain as the ogre’s heavy shins slammed into his side, but the tactic had paid off. Like a tree cut off at its stump, the ogre began to fall.
By the time the beast hit the ground, Soth was already on his feet towering over him. The ogre was dazed by the fall and had even cut himself by falling on top of his own blade. The wound wasn’t enough to keep him down however, and Soth had to quickly see to it that the ogre would never be getting up again.
He clasped both hands around the upturned hilt of his sword and drove the point of his blade downward with all his might, through the ogre and into the soft ground beneath him.
The breath came out of the ogre’s body in a whoosh, and then all was silent.
All except for …
Soth listened closely for the faint sound.
There was a low moan coming from somewhere nearby. He looked at the elf-maid the dark-haired ogre had laid upon the ground, but she was nowhere to be seen. More than likely she had run from the scene as soon as she was able.
Who, or what then, was making the sound?
Something caught Soth’s attention, a slight movement in the left corner of his field of vision. There seemed to be another maiden, this one fair-haired, lying on the other side of the large fallen log.
Soth pulled his sword from the ground and turned to investigate.
At first he feared the woman dead.
Her face was pressed hard against the forest floor and all he could see was the dirty blond hair that covered the back of her head and shoulders. Her body appeared to be still and without breath. For a moment, Soth cursed the ogres for their deeds, but then came the familiar moan.
Quickly, Soth leaped over the log and rolled the elf-maiden gently onto her side. Then he removed his leather gauntlet from his right hand and wiped the dirt and humus from the maiden’s face with the tips of his fingers.
Even through the dirt and grime that remained on her visage, Soth could see that she was utterly beautiful. Anger at the ogres flared within him once more as he thought about what the ugly brutes had done to this lovely, innocent flower and her companions.
He removed the gauntlet from his left hand and eased her body off t
he ground, sitting her upright against the log. Her body was thin and limp beneath her flowing pale green and brown robes. Still, despite the fact that she was barely heavier than a handful of down, Soth had the feeling she was a very strong woman.
When she was finally sitting comfortably Soth brushed more of her face clean, marveling at the prominence of her high cheekbones, the delicate points of her ears, and the softness of her goose-white skin, skin that had unfortunately been marred in spots by bruises and scrapes.
She was breathing easier now, yet still unconscious. Soth reached down around his waist and opened up a small pouch. Inside was a mixture of sharp and pungent herbs that Soth had used many times to awaken knights who had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head.
He took a pinch of the mixture and held it under the maiden’s nose. When she did not stir, he rubbed the herbs between his fingers, releasing a sharp new aroma into the air.
Finally she jerked her head away. Slowly, her eyelids began to rise. After several false starts, her eyes finally fluttered open. They were hazel in color, indicating to Soth that—considering the color of her hair and complexion of her skin—the party of elf-maidens on its way to Palanthas had probably originated in Silvanesti.
She turned her head to look at him …
And Soth felt his heart begin to pound beneath his breastplate like that of a squire sneaking a peek through the window of a lady’s bedchamber.
She was strikingly attractive, her beauty perhaps even rivaling that of Lady Korinne. But more than simple beauty was the air of nobility and grace she exuded, a quality that refused to be dulled, even by coming into contact with the rough and jagged edges of the ogres.
“Are you all right?” Soth asked softly, a little surprised to find his mouth dry as dust.
“Yes,” she said, the word sounding slightly melodic, as if it had been plucked from the middle of a verse. “I think so. Who … who are you?”
Soth eased one knee onto the ground and placed his arms on the other. He slipped off his helm and said, “I’m Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”
She smiled at him and said, “You saved my life.”
Soth opened his mouth to speak, but words would not come.
He gently helped the elf-maiden to her feet and began to lead her through the forest toward the clearing where he expected to find both the knights and maidens gathered. After a few steps it became apparent that the elf-maid had twisted her ankle during her struggle with the ogre. It was at least sprained, perhaps even broken.
“Allow me,” offered Soth, scooping the woman up in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way.
“Oh,” the elf-maid said as she was lifted off the ground.
“It’s easier this way,” said Soth, trying to make light of the close contact which might or might not have been necessary. If she had been an ugly old maid, would he have offered to carry her? Probably, but he would have done so a lot less enthusiastically.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” said the maiden, her voice sounding to his ears like that of a songbird.
“I was curious as to your name.”
“It’s Isolde,” she said, putting her arms around his neck to steady herself as he stepped over a fallen tree. “Isolde Denissa.”
“A lovely name,” said Soth. “For a lovely elf.”
She smiled at that. “So you’re charming as well as brave, strong and handsome.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
Soth felt warm all over and found himself firming up his grip even though there was no danger of dropping the lithe young elf.
As he stepped into the clearing however, the feeling of warmth vanished as he came under the scrutiny of his fellow knights and the elderly elf-woman.
Did she look too comfortable in his arms? Could his sudden—he tried to think of the right word—affection for her be so easily discerned from the look on his face?
“Is she all right?” asked the elf-woman, who had undoubtedly been charged with the care of the maidens.
The question jarred Soth’s train of thought. Of course, with her eyes closed and her head resting upon his shoulder, she appeared to be near death in their eyes. “She’s been injured, but”—he paused for a moment as a wild thought leaped forward in his mind, quelling all other thoughts—“it’s nothing the healer won’t be able to mend.” He put her down on the ground to reunite her with her fellow travelers.
“The healer?” asked Colm Farold, looking the elf-maiden over. “She doesn’t look to be in need of Istvan.”
“On the outside no, but she appears to have suffered”—he hesitated slightly—“internal injuries which might be best left to the healer to remedy. She may very well heal on her own, but it’s always best to be sure.”
Farold gave Soth a curious look, but dared not contradict his lord twice. “Very well, milord. We can always attend the Knights’ Meeting next year.”
Soth raised his hand dramatically. “No,” he said. “These elf-maidens were on a holy pilgrimage to Palanthas. It is your duty as a Knight of Solamnia to see they arrive there without further harm.”
“Our duty?” asked Farold. “You say that as if you won’t be coming with us.”
“I won’t,” said Soth. “I will be escorting the injured elf-maid back to Dargaard Keep while you and the others continue on to Palanthas. Deliver them safely so that they may pledge themselves to Paladine, father of all that is good. Then, attend the Knights’ Meeting as heroes worthy of the title Knights of Solamnia.”
Farold smiled with pride and gratitude. Arriving in Palanthas escorting a group of maidens they’d rescued from ogre bandits would make the knights the talk of the entire meeting, a rare opportunity for the knights to be regarded with the highest esteem by their peers. “Thank you, milord.”
Soth shrugged his shoulders. “After she is in the care of the healer, I’ll once again set out for Palanthas and join you there. You must extend my apologies to the grand master, and conduct yourselves with the utmost honor and decorum in my absence.”
“I will, milord,” said Farold. “We will.”
Soth nodded, then turned to inform the maidens of their plans.
“My knights will be escorting you the rest of the way to Palanthas,” he told the elderly elf-woman. “Meanwhile, I will be taking Isolde Denissa back to Dargaard Keep where she can receive proper aid at the hands of the keep’s healer.”
The elf-woman tilted her head back and looked at Soth down the length of her nose. “I’ve looked her over and her injuries seem to be minor. I think she’s healthy enough to continue on with us to Palanthas, but thank you very much for your most generous offer.”
The elf-woman was probably several hundred years old and had likely seen a great many things in her lifetime. She had acquired great wisdom through her years of experience and for that reason alone deserved Soth’s respect. Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow her to meddle with his plan.
“It’s not an offer,” he said plainly.
She looked at him with narrowing eyes. “You mentioned Dargaard Keep before. Who are you exactly?”
Soth realized that their first meeting had been somewhat rushed and they’d never properly introduced themselves. “I … am Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”
A mixture of shock, surprise and embarrassment traversed the old woman’s face at the mention of his name. Apparently she had heard of Soth at some point in her long life.
“Excuse me, milord,” she said, using the word even though she was not required to do so. “I was dubious of your intentions, but now that I know who you are I have no doubt that Isolde will be safe in your care.” She finished her words by lowering her head slightly, an unmistakable sign of respect.
“You have my word as a Knight of Solamnia,” said Soth. “No harm will come to her.”
The ride back to Dargaard Keep was taken at a slow pace as the bump and jostle of a hard ride might further injure the young elf-maid.
And even though Soth had never imagined that he’d be so enamored by an elf—in fact he’d never been particularly fond of the race to begin with—he somehow found himself becoming attracted to the maiden. Perhaps it was her mix of youthful innocence and womanly beauty, or perhaps it was the look of awe in her eyes when she spoke and looked at him. Whatever it was, he was enchanted by her. Of that, there could be no doubt.
“I’m becoming weary,” said Isolde. “Can we stop for a little while?”
Soth scanned the surrounding landscape. It was barren and flat and the sun beat down on them mercilessly. He would have liked to have stopped by a stand of trees or a rock formation, but he wasn’t about to suggest that Isolde continue on if she didn’t feel up to it.
“All right, we can stop here. But not for long.”
“Thank you, milord.”
“You may call me Loren.”
“Very well … Loren.”
They stopped on the trail and Isolde waited until Soth had dismounted and could assist her from her mount. He reached up, put his hands about her waist and eased her off the horse. Before her feet touched the ground Isolde put her arms around Soth’s neck and held him close.
“I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done.”
Soth was surprised by how tightly Isolde held onto him, or perhaps surprised that she was so at ease when there were only inches between them.
“It was nothing, really,” said Soth, holding Isolde aloft because she didn’t seem in any hurry to get her feet onto the ground. “I did nothing that any Knight of Solamnia wouldn’t have done in a similar circumstance.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t just any Knight of Solamnia who saved me, it was you.”
“But—”
His words were cut off by a kiss.