He turned back to face Lord Mordren. "With all my heart."
Lord Mordren smiled and nodded approvingly.
"Do you, Korinne Gladria, take Lord Loren Soth, to be your wedded husband, to love him with a pure and loyal heart, and to honor him and the Oath and the Measure, the knightly code by which he has vowed to live his life?"
Korinne turned from Lord Mordren and gazed upon her husband to be. Her eyes were alight with something akin to pure joy, and her smile was broad, as much from relief as from happiness.
The moment had finally come.
Soth felt his heart skip a beat. Here was possibly the greatest moment of the young Soth's life. In the span of days he'd been inducted into the highest order within the Knights of Solamnia, had been instituted as the new Lord of Knightlund, and now, he was to be wedded to one of the most beautiful and loving women in all of Solamnia, no, the entire continent of Ansalon if not Krynn itself.
Forgotten were the indiscretions of his father, the murders committed by Caradoc on his behalf.
The past was behind him now and he was anxious to begin life anew as a
Knight of the Rose. To start fresh with new resolve to live his life according to the Oath and the Measure. And he was eager to start living his other new life, that of a husband, the head of a family, and a father to the heir of the Soth legacy.
If only she would say the words.
"With all my heart," she said.
Lord Mordren nodded, then turned to Soth. "You may kiss her, if you wish."
Soth turned to face his new bride. Lady Korinne Soth, and gently lifted the veil over her head. Her pale skin was soft, smooth and flawless, radiating a vibrant glow full of love, life and happiness. Her copper-colored hair curled and shimmered like flames in the light of the midday sun which had just started to break through the clouds in earnest. He hesitated for a moment, admiring her beauty, then leaned forward, bending at the waist so their lips could meet.
A rousing cheer rose up around them as the guests, some of whom had been waiting for this one moment for months, shouted their enthusiastic approval of the marriage.
The kiss lasted a long, long time, with neither Soth nor Gladria wishing for it to end.
But when the cheering lessened somewhat, Lord Mordren cleared his throat, interrupting the newlyweds' kiss, and allowing the ceremony to be completed.
"You are now husband and wife. Go forth and live with love, honor, wisdom, and above all loyalty to one another, now and forever."
Another cheer from the crowd.
Minstrels began to play, The couple turned to face the assembly, then slowly began walking down the center aisle left open between the benches filled to capacity with family, friends and fellow knights. Their path, which led around toward the other side of the keep, was carpeted with multi-colored rose petals.
After they'd passed through the crowd of guests, the rest of their way was lined with Knights of the Sword who'd drawn their weapons and crossed them over the aisle to form a canopy under which the couple could walk.
The gesture was an unexpected tribute, and Soth was both surprised and honored by it. As he walked under the arc of gleaming swords held aloft by his fellow knights, he began to think about how everything to do with the wedding had been so right, so wonderful. It was as if the wedding had been blessed by Paladine himself, perhaps even Mishakal as well.
Soth looked up to offer thanks, and noticed that the sun was finally shining brightly for the first time that day.
As the day wore on, the clouds continued to dissipate, leaving the hot summer sun of Fierswelt to blaze down upon the festivities, making it warmer than was welcome.
But, considering the questionable weather conditions that had started the day, no one was complaining, especially the women, whose new gowns and dresses would have been all but ruined by any sudden downpour.
That the Vingaard River valley enjoyed some of the most advantageous weather on the continent of Ansalon was never more evident than on this day. After a three month winter in which the fields had lain fallow, there had come the two short months of spring used for planting. Indeed much of the planting this season had been done in specific preparation for today's wedding feast. And now the people of Knightlund were finally able to reap and enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Strewn across the long tables set out in rows were barrels and bowls full of fresh fruits and vegetables, including four different kinds of apples, three different kinds of squash, two kinds of tomatoes and as many different other "greens" as had ever been grown in the fertile valley to the north and west of Dargaard Keep.
There were even other delicacies from such places as Istar, Silvanesti and Ergoth, all of which had been brought by guests or sent as gifts to the bride and groom by friends who were unable to attend.
At one end of the food tables, several fires were being stoked as many different types of game were being roasted, a process that filled the air with an enticing aroma which promised that today's meal would be the best many had ever tasted.
At the other end of the food tables were barrels of ale, casks of wine and pitchers of sweetwater, all properly dulled with ice and snow brought down from the whitecapped peaks of the Dargaard Mountains especially for the occasion.
And above the tables filled with food and the others lined with guests,
Lord Soth and his Lady Korinne sat at the high table set upon a slight rise in the ground, a setup which gave the couple a place of honor and allowed their guests to offer congratulations while the festivities were underway.
"Lord Soth," said Colm Farold, a young Knight of the Sword who had stepped up to the high table to make his offering of a wedding gift.
"While I have not brought a gift I can hold in my hand, I nevertheless offer you something more valuable than any gift of material wealth."
Farold paused. "I offer you my undying loyalty as a Knight of the
Sword." He dropped down on one knee before Soth's table and bowed his head deeply.
For a moment Soth was made speechless by the gesture.
He knew he had the loyalty of many of the knights in attendance such as
Caradoc, and Wersten Kern, and could count on several others when their services were required, but to have a knight as distinguished as Farold publicly declare his loyalty was a rare thing indeed.
Soth got up from the high table. "Thank you Knight Farold. I'm deeply touched by your pledge-one that I assure you is priceless in value. My only hope is that I can prove myself worthy of your loyalty." A pause.
"Arise, and welcome to Dargaard Keep."
A cheer erupted from the guests as Farold rose to his feet. After a nod to Soth and Lady Korinne he returned to his seat, receiving applause and congratulations every step of the way.
The presentation of wedding gifts carried on for quite some time, and after a while it became apparent that many of the wedding guests were of a similar mind. No less than five cradles were set up in front of the high table, ranging in style from simple wooden bassinets made by
Knightlund farmers to gilded wood and metal cradles fixed upon wheels to allow them to be easily moved from one part of the keep to another.
But despite the number of duplicates, Soth and Korinne had accepted each gift with the same courteous and gracious "thank you," and even laughed heartily (if not politely) each and every time the inevitable jokes were made about the number of children the couple would be expected to have considering the number of cradles they now had to fill.
But at last the presentation of gifts came to an end.
Guests finished their meals and suddenly became eager to walk the grounds surrounding the keep, or else loosen the waistbands of their britches so that they might more easily partake in the rest of the day's planned activities.
But before the feast could be officially concluded, Lord Reynard Gladria and his wife Leyla had to make the presentation of Lady Korinne's dowry.
Rumors had been circulating for weeks about the size and contents o
f the dowry, but specific details had yet to be divulged.
At last, all would know.
Leyla Gladria stepped up before the table, holding her aged husband by the left arm, while Eiwon van Sickle, a Knight of the Sword from
Palanthas who had escorted the Gladrias to Dargaard Keep, held firmly onto the man's left.
When they were in place, a chair was brought for Reynard Gladria while
Lady Gladria made the presentation standing up.
"Dearest daughter," she said, then turning to Lord Soth.
"And my new son…"
Soth wasn't sure the woman was saying the word affectionately or sarcastically, but he nevertheless nodded graciously.
"My husband and I have awaited this day for many, many years. And I know
I speak for my husband when I say that we couldn't have wished for a more suitable man for our precious daughter than the heralded Lord Loren
Soth, Knight of the Rose."
Lady Gladria reached over and took Soth's hand in hers, squeezing it tight.
"And with our daughter married, we find that we are no longer in need of much of our holdings. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that we present to you the deeds to the lands surrounding Maelgoth as well as those spanning the northern edge of the Plains of Solamnia. This will extend Knightlund's western border across the Vingaard River, bridging much of the gap between Palanthas and Knightlund, and making the distance between our homeland and the new home of our daughter a much shorter one to traverse."
For the second time in a very short while, Soth was at a loss for words.
So too was Lady Korinne, for all she was able to offer in response to her parent's gift were tears of joy.
At last Soth got up from the high table and walked down the slight slope to thank his new in-laws for their extremely generous gift.
He approached Reynard Gladria first, kneeling by the seated man and bowing his head deeply. "Thank you milord," he said, using the word somewhat improperly in order to show the extent of his gratitude.
The elderly man smiled, exposing a gap-toothed row of teeth. He placed a frail and bony hand on Soth's shoulder and said, "Quite all right, my boy." His voice wheezed out the words like a steelsmith's bellows clogged with coal dust. "There's no one I'd rather see have it than a
Knight of the Rose."
Soth nodded again, then stood up. He waited for Lady Korinne to finish thanking her mother, then he moved over and knelt before the woman.
"Thank you, milady."
The elder Gladria remained stern faced. "Treating my daughter well will be thanks enough, young man."
Soth looked at her, realized that she was now his motherin-law, and simply said, "Yes, milady."
Leyla Gladria nodded her approval.
A breeze blew down off the Dargaard Mountains, cooling the early evening air and making it more comfortable for the assembled knights to continue their games and amusements.
At the foot of the mountains, on the south side of the keep, several knights were busy testing their skills against one another by fighting mock battles commonly referred to as "friendlies."
"Knights prepare!" cried Oren Brightblade, the honorary referee for the evening's contests.
The two opponents stood up and entered the large circle drawn upon the ground. Wearing a red sash on his right arm was Meyer Seril, a Knight of the Crown. Wearing the blue sash was Caradoc, also a Knight of the Crown.
Although the winner and loser of each friendly neither gained nor lost any standing in the order, the Knights of Solamnia were a proud group and none took losing such contests lightly. As a result, many of the friendlies between knights were as fiercely contested as many of the battles they fought against their usual foes such as the ogres or minotaurs.
"May the best knight win," said Seril, smiling at his opponent.
Caradoc nodded and smiled politely. "May the winner be the best knight."
The combatants touched swords and stepped back so that their footmen could give the lightweight ringmail and leather armor covering the upper parts of their bodies a final check.
A moment later, the two men stood at the ready.
"Hup!" cried Oren Brightblade.
Suddenly the air rang with the clink and clang of steel against steel as each of the knight's thin, lightweight practice swords slashed through the air in search of a weakness in their opponent's defenses.
Whether Caradoc was tired from the long day of ceremony and festivities, or Meyer Seril was a more nimble fighter, was unclear. What was clear however, was that Seril was by far the better swordsman. He was able to block most of Caradoc's attempted blows and easily knocked Caradoc off-balance by slapping him gently on his arms and legs with the flat side of his broadsword, which was the primary object of the whole contest.
As the two knights continued to battle, other knights, those slightly older and perhaps more battle-weary, looked on, cheering on the combatants between gulps of frosty ale.
The time limit on the bout was close to running out and it was obvious to everyone present that Knight Seril would be declared the winner as he had easily outscored Caradoc by a margin of four-to-one.
But suddenly Caradoc faltered, as if he had been hurt by Seril's most recent blow to his armorless thigh.
"Caradoc, are you all right?" asked Seril, dropping his guard for a moment and leaving the right side of his body open to attack.
Caradoc rose up, swung his sword in a short and powerful arc and caught
Seril on the shoulder with the sharp leading edge of his blade. The ringmail connecting the patches of leather armor covering Seril's arm broke away allowing Caradoc's sword to cut a long, gash across Seril's upper arm.
"Stop the friendly!" called Oren Brightblade. "Put down your swords!"
Seril grabbed his bleeding arm and fell to one knee. "If I didn't know you better. Knight Caradoc," he said. "I would have thought you did that on purpose."
"Who's to say he didn't?" called Amol Kraas, Seril's squire and a recent supplicant to the Order of the Crown.
Although it was not his place to pose such a question, none of the assembled knights objected to it. Perhaps many of them had been thinking the very same thing.
"On my honor as a Knight of Solamnia, I would never consciously hurt one of my fellows."
"You feigned being hurt-" continued Kraas.
"Enough! Enough!" interjected Brightblade. "Caradoc says the blow was accidental, and since he is bound to the Oath and the Measure, we must take him at his word."
Kraas said no more, but was obviously dissatisfied.
The other knights also said nothing, but were seemingly more content to abide by Brightblade's decision.
"Now, bring this man to see Istvan, the healer," said Brightblade. "It's only a flesh wound, but I've seen many a man die from less."
Two knights quickly dropped to the ground, took hold of Knight Seril and gently lifted him up, carrying him gingerly back to the keep.
After Seril was gone, and the footman had begun preparing the two knights competing in the evening's final friendly, Caradoc approached
Brightblade and asked, "Do you declare a winner?"
Brightblade looked at Caradoc strangely. "A knight has been injured.
Does it really matter who won?"
"According to the writings of Vinas Solamnus, as every battle must have a winner, so too must every friendly."
This was true, but the knights had long ago learned that open interpretation of the writings of Vinas Solamnus was far more practical than any literal adherence to their words. They were guidelines rather than laws carved in stone. For true honor lies in the heart of each knight, not in a set of old and dusty tomes. However, if the laws were cited verbatim in situations such as this, their authority could not be questioned.
"Very well," said Brightblade, no doubt as familiar with the thirty-seven volumes as Caradoc was. He cleared his throat and announced the winner. "Since Meyer Seril was unable to complete
the friendly, Caradoc is declared winner by forfeit."
Caradoc raised his sword to acknowledge his victory.
Few cheered.
In fact, following Seril's wounding, many of the knights had gone inside the keep to partake of some of the evening's more sedate celebrations or to the north end where another group of knights had gathered beneath the cool shade of a vallenwood tree. On the side of the broad trunk that faced west, a large circular patch of wood had been cut flat with an axe and its pale-colored surface had been painted with three dark red rings, each larger than the one inside it.
"Who's next?" barked Olthar Uth Wistan, High Warrior presiding over the contest.
"I believe I shall give it a try," said High Justice Lord Adam Caladen.
"It's been years since I've thrown a sword, but perhaps I'll get lucky, eh?" "Hear that, men?" said Lord Wistan jovially "Stand back, give him lots of room, and remember to keep your eyes on the sword."
A good-natured laugh coursed through the assembled knights, footmen and onlookers as Lord Caladen selected a sword from those standing upright in the rack to his left.
After finding one with a length and weight to his liking, he hefted it in his hand and practiced the movement that would soon send it hurtling through the air toward its target.
Like friendlies, swordthrowing was an amiable sort of sporting event contested by the Knights of Solamnia whenever they were gathered in sufficient numbers and had the free time to spend in good-natured competition.
But unlike the friendly, which pitted knight against knight, swordthrowing tested individual knights against the strength, skill and marksmanship of the legendary Huma Dragonbane, Hero of the Lance and the greatest knight the Knights of Solamnia had ever known.
The origin of the contest came from a little known story about the fabled knight's battle with a particularly ferocious red dragon.
According to the tale, Huma's initial attack against the dragon had knocked his dragonlance from its mount and completely out of his hands.
Despite being weaponless, he brought his beloved silver dragon around for another pass. But before the dragons came into range of each other's breath weapons, Huma drew his broadsword and flung it through the air in the direction of the red. Although not designed to be used as a throwing weapon, the sword flew true, slicing the air like an arrow and piercing the vulnerable soft spot of the red dragon's underbelly. The wound so startled the red that it was sent into a long downward spiral from which it never recovered.
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