Caradoc said nothing, and continued to ride hard because there were just as many knights behind them as ahead. It was obvious something had to be done, but what? He was Soth’s seneschal and had become accustomed to taking orders in Soth’s presence, not giving them.
“The mountains!”
The voice came from somewhere behind.
Caradoc looked back and realized the words had come from Lord Soth himself.
“The mountains!” Soth shouted.
Caradoc slowed slightly in order to let Soth catch up.
“Head for the mountains. There are too many of them for us to fight.”
Caradoc thought about it. It was a good plan. The knights could survive for months in the mountains, where there were an infinite number of places to hide. And, the longer they stayed in the mountains, the better they could prepare for their ride across the plains. Caradoc nodded and sped back up to the front of the line of knights, then suddenly broke left.
Heading north.
The rest of the knights followed.
“We’re gaining on them!” cried Garrett Fenton, the first Solamnic Knight to pick up the chase out of Palanthas.
Behind Fenton, seven other knights were on horseback. More would follow. Up ahead he could see the knights stationed at the High Clerist’s Tower were also mounting up.
Soth and his knights were insane if they thought they could get away.
“We’ll have them in another minute!”
But suddenly the fleeing group diverged from the trail, turning left and heading into the mountains.
Fenton jabbed his horse in the ribs, hoping to coax the beast into running just a little bit faster. But his horse was already up to top speed. It continued at the exhausting pace for another few minutes until Fenton and the other knights had reached the spot where Soth and his Knights had turned.
They turned as well, riding into the rough terrain and forests at the foot of the mountains.
But after a few minutes they slowed, unsure which pass their adversaries had taken. Finally they stopped.
The escaping knights had vanished into the mountains.
Fenton turned to face the other knights. “Post lookouts in the tower. They’ll try and head to Dargaard Keep before long. When they do, we’ll have a party of knights ready to ride.”
“It’s true milady,” said Knight Valcic. “We’ve heard the news now from several sources.”
Soth and his knights had been gone for over a week, but only now was Isolde hearing of her husband’s fate in the Hall of High Justice.
“There’s a good chance he’s still alive,” said Valcic, obviously trying to look on the brighter side of things. “They say he’s hiding out in the mountains.”
“Thank you, Knight Valcic,” said Isolde, dismissing the young man with a wave of her hand. Then she walked over toward her bed and fell down on top of it.
Lord Soth, Knight of the Rose, she thought.
Outlaw!
It was hard to believe that one so respected and revered could fall so hard, so far, so fast.
And for what? The murder of Korinne and the child.
Ridiculous! She was sure of it.
Lord Soth had saved her life, had spent all of his life fighting for the cause of Good.
Something was wrong about all of this. When he returned to Dargaard Keep, she would ask him about it. And then they would begin the process of clearing his good name.
Yes, that was it. That’s what she would do.
She brought her hands together, intertwined her fingers, and prayed to Mishakal for guidance.
Somehow, she knew, the Healing Hand would provide it.
Chapter 25
Brin Scoville rubbed his full belly after eating bis fill of yet another satisfying dinner prepared by his wife. While he had toiled the entire day in the fields, she had labored within their modest kitchen making not only that evening’s supper, but dozens of jars full of jams and other preserves.
It was hard work, but necessary to get them through the coming harsh winter on the plains.
And for some unknown reason, this winter seemed to have the makings of one of the worst yet. Scoville wasn’t sure how he knew this. Perhaps it was his aching corns, or the stiff soreness down the length of his back, or the wintry sniffles that had come a few weeks early this year. Whatever the reason, Scoville knew it was going to be a long, cold winter. Best to be prepared.
He watched his son and daughter play with a set of wooden blocks on the rug in front of the fireplace. They were darling children, quiet and well-mannered with a bright and happy future ahead of them. Sometimes, Scoville would watch them play for hours, just for the simple pleasure of it.
Just then his wife brought his pipe and some tobacco to the table. He looked at the pipe, then at his wife, and smiled. “Thank you, dear.”
She simply nodded and continued clearing the dishes.
With a practiced hand, Scoville filled up the bowl of his pipe—not too tightly—and went to the stove. He searched for some glowing embers with which to light his pipe.
To his surprise the fire had gone out and the coals were cold. “Wasn’t there just a fire in the hearth?” he asked.
His wife turned around and looked strangely at the dead black coals. “I just finished cooking; they should be red hot.”
Scoville put his hand over the ashes, then poked at them with his finger.
Cold as ice.
In fact the entire house seemed to be chilled.
“Papa,” said his son. “The floor is getting cold. Could you light a fire for us?”
It was still too early to begin lighting fires in the main fireplace, but without a fire in the kitchen there was nothing else to keep them warm.
“I can do without a fire in here,” said the wife. “Light the fire for the children and we’ll all go to bed warm tonight.”
“Right,” said Scoville, moving into the main room to be with his children. “Well now, who wants to help?”
“Me,” said the boy.
“I do,” said the girl.
Together the children piled leaves and kindling onto the hearth while Scoville worked a piece of flint.
But the flint did not spark. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he used against the flint, it simply would not spark.
He continued to try, without success.
The sun began to set.
Darkness and cold descended upon the house.
“Come now, Brin, children,” said the wife. “Well be warm enough in bed.”
The two children, chilled by the long wait, were more than eager to retire to the warmth of their clean flannel sheets and heavy woolen blankets.
Scoville continued to try to light the fire long into the night.
He went to bed tired, cold and at an utter loss as to the cause of the lack of spark or flame.
Something wasn’t right, he concluded.
Chapter 26
Under the cover of a jutting rock face and shaded by a thick stand of fir trees, Meyer Seril examined the broad blades of the axe he’d taken from the executioner. One side had been pitted by his attempts to cut the chains in the central square of Palanthas. The other side, however, was still finely honed. He turned this side of the axe around to use it as the cutting edge.
“Swing the axe as hard as you can,” said Lord Soth, kneeling on the ground, his shackled wrists resting on the sides of the post so that the chain lay squarely across the wood. “I trust you, Knight Seril.”
Seril nodded to Soth, thankful for the vote of confidence. The chain was made of heavy steel and would require a tremendous blow from the axe to cut it. The axe was designed to cut through flesh and bone, not steel. The first blow would likely ruin the blade, so he might as well make it a good one.
He raised the axe over his head. It wavered there for a brief moment, then came streaking down. There was a sharp clink of metal striking metal.
Seril lifted the axe away.
Soth lifted
his arms off the log.
The chain was still whole, but one of the links had nearly been severed.
Seril looked at the axe. The blade’s edge was severely dented. There was still enough cutting area, but only enough for another blow. He raised the axe once more and brought it down with as much force as he could muster.
There was another clink of metal on metal, then the satisfying bite of metal into wood. The axe blade was embedded in the post.
Soth’s arms were free.
They buried the post under a pile of leaves and humus and moved on. While it might be possible for them to hide indefinitely in the mountains, none of the knights wanted that. The longer they remained in the mountains, the more time the pursuing Solamnic Knights would have to organize search patrols.
The problem was that the Knights of Solamnia from Palanthas knew that Soth and his knights would be attempting to return to Dargaard Keep and would therefore be on the lookout for them. In addition, there might be knights sent northward from Vingaard Keep to search the plains. They considered splitting up in order to divide the forces pursuing them. But inasmuch as they were all outlaws now, splitting up might only mean that there would be a greater chance some of them might be caught attempting to return to Dargaard Keep. And besides that, they were a loyal band. If they succeeded or failed, they would do so together. Dargaard Keep would be the only place where they would be truly safe, so it made the most sense that they all try to get there as quickly as possible.
To that end, they decided to strip themselves of their armor and leave it behind. Giving their mounts lighter loads to carry would allow them to run faster and farther than those of their adversaries. Also, if they were caught by their pursuers there would likely be so many of them that no amount of armor would be enough to protect them from harm.
So, their plan was a simple one. They would hide out in the mountains while they rested and gathered food and supplies for the mad dash across the plains.
In the meantime, they would head north toward the end of the mountain range—a point aptly named Destiny’s Hand.
After two nights in the mountains, the knights and their mounts were suitably rested and prepared for the ride back to Dargaard Keep. Early on the third morning, long before the sun came up over the horizon to light their way, Soth and his knights headed east, riding down from the mountains as swiftly as they could. They quickened their pace to a full gallop as they rode out onto the naked plain.
Their horses couldn’t continue the pace indefinitely, but they hoped they would be able to put enough distance between themselves and the knights in the High Clerist’s Tower to see them safely to Dargaard Keep.
The sun wouldn’t be rising for several hours.
Soth hoped it would be enough time.
Bram Springdale, a young Sword knight who less than three months ago had been a squire, was the first to see the plume of dust rising up off the plain.
Springdale had been stationed in the upper battlement of the High Clerist’s Tower since dawn but hadn’t spotted anything suspicious. As he continued his precise scan of the horizon—a quarter turn every few minutes—he noticed something out of the corner of his eye: a sort of haze rising up from the ground many, many miles to the northeast, roughly halfway between the High Clerist’s Tower and the town of Bright Hart.
He squinted and concentrated on the leading edge of the dust storm. Whoever was creating it was in an awful hurry, and heading almost due east away from the mountains. He tried to count the black dots of the horses and made out five, perhaps six individual dots—Soth and his knights.
Springdale picked up the large steel bell by his side, stepped to the edge of the battlement and swung the bell over his head.
The bell clanged loudly.
Moments later there was much commotion below.
“Soth and his men,” shouted Springdale to the knights gathered at the base of the tower. “Northeast of here, midway to Bright Hart, riding hard.”
The chase was on.
Within minutes of Springdale’s sounding of the alarm, twelve knights left the High Clerist’s Tower. A few minutes later another six were away, these riding in a wider arc in the hopes of intersecting with Soth’s men in the middle of the plain.
The first group of knights rode at a full gallop for as long as they could, but dressed in full armor, they soon had to slow their pace in order to let their horses catch their breath. By midafternoon, they still hadn’t been able to clearly see the plume of dust on the horizon and were forced to make camp on the banks of one of the many tributaries running into the Vingaard River.
The horses were grateful for the respite.
The knights were not.
“Wake your sleepy heads,” said Soth, giving the feet of his knights a gentle push with the toe of his boot.
It was still the middle of the night and the darkness was total. To the southwest a faint glow could be seen where the lights of Palanthas reflected against the clouds. Due east was Dargaard Keep, but they were too far away to see any sign of it—perhaps in another day or two.
The knights grumbled and moaned, but Soth ignored their complaints. It was far more important that they continue moving. When they reached Dargaard Keep there would be more than enough time to rest.
After they munched on nuts and berries from their packs, the knights set out on foot with their horses in tow. It was still too dark to travel any faster and a constant gallop would run the horses into the ground.
When the sun rose they would mount up.
But for now any extra distance they could put between themselves could prove crucial in the end.
“A rider!” came the call from above. “No, a group of riders, approaching the keep.”
The knights sitting idly in the great hall of Dargaard Keep seemed to come alive at the news.
Darin Valcic was the first one to hurry up the tower to have a look for himself. “Where?” he asked when he joined the lookout stationed on the uppermost level of the keep.
Arnol Kraas, a squire, pointed east to a bit of haze rising up off the plain. “There!”
Valcic’s eyes weren’t as sharp as Kraas’s but he could still make out the telltale cloud of dust. “How many riders do you think there are?”
“Five or six,” said the squire.
Other knights began to arrive, each scanning the horizon.
“It’s them,” said Valcic.
“It’s who?” asked Kraas.
“Lord Soth and our fellow knights, of course. Prepare a proper reception and a feast for their arrival.” Valcic turned away.
“What’s that?” asked one of the knights.
“What?” Valcic asked, turning back around.
“There’s another plume of dust further away on the plain,” said the knight, pointing.
Valcic squinted and concentrated on the direction the other knight had pointed. It was difficult to make out because the dust had blended into the sky and had looked like nothing more than a rain cloud. But now that it was pointed out to him, Valcic realized it was another group of riders.
A much larger group.
Soth was being chased.
“Never mind the reception for Lord Soth,” said Valcic. “Ready the horses, bring out the armor.” A pause. “And prepare for battle.”
Usually such a call was answered by a loud and enthusiastic cheer.
This time, however, there was only silence.
“We’re gaining on them!” cried Garrett Fenton.
It was true. Despite the fact that Soth’s knights held the advantages of fewer riders, faster horses and greater motivation to reach their destination, the Solamnic Knights from Palanthas were edging ever closer. At this rate they would be on top of them in another day, perhaps even sooner.
“Yes,” agreed Eiwon van Sickle. “But will we catch them before they reach the keep?”
Fenton didn’t answer.
Instead, he kicked at his mount and shot off at a gallop.
W
hen Soth first saw the knights approaching he was sure they had been sent northward from Vingaard Keep to intercept them. But as they came closer, he recognized the familiar shades of reds worn by the knights of Dargaard Keep and realized that, with their help, they just might make it after all.
When they finally came together, both parties stopped.
“Good to see you Lord Soth,” said Darin Valcic. “Alive and well.”
“Aye, and it’s good to see all of you. A fine sight for my tired and sore eyes.”
“Not to break up this fine reunion,” said Caradoc, “but perhaps we should ride now and greet each other later.” He turned around. “Our pursuers are nearly upon us.”
Soth looked behind him and was surprised to find that the knights from Palanthas had indeed closed the gap. If they were able to keep up their pace, they’d be upon them in a few short hours.
“Right!” said Soth. He urged his horse forward. It protested slightly, but then was off …
On the final dash to the keep.
They were minutes away from Dargaard Keep. Although still at a gallop, Soth’s horse was slowing, holding up the mounts of the others which still had some wind left in their lungs.
He kicked at the horse’s ribs. Foam was already forming at the mouth of the beast, but it valiantly tried to pick up the pace. After a few more steps it stumbled and fell forward, sending Soth hurtling hard onto the ground.
Several of the knights ahead of Soth kept riding, unaware of what was going on behind them. Those trailing stopped to help Soth to his feet.
“You can ride with me,” offered Colm Farold.
“No,” said Soth, looking at Farold’s horse. “You’ll be lucky if the creature takes you the rest of the way to the keep.”
“You can have my mount, milord,” said Darin Valcic. “It’s as fresh as any horse in the keep and I would be honored to have it carry you to safety.”
Soth was touched by the gesture, but could not accept it because it likely meant Valcic would be giving up his life in exchange for his own. “Thank you, Knight Valcic, but I can not accept.”
Lord Soth Page 23
