Lord Soth (38 page)

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.