Lord Soth (43 page)

The child made a gurgling sound, as if in understanding.

Soth kissed his son’s forehead and returned him to the arms of the maid. After a final look at the child, he turned away and joined the three waiting knights—Caradoc, Farold and Kern.

Then he rode out of the keep without looking back.

Normally it would take Soth and his knights at least ten days to reach Istar, but at the rate they were traveling it would likely take them closer to twenty.

For Soth, there seemed little point in rushing headlong toward his death. Traveling at a relaxed pace allowed him to enjoy what would be his last few weeks of life. It also gave him the chance to reflect on his life, the mistakes he’d made, the errors in judgment, the sins he’d committed.

By the end of the third day, Soth was convinced that sacrificing his life was the best thing he could do. After all, he was a Knight of Solamnia and the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life was to be one of the greatest men the knighthood had ever seen. For a time he had achieved that goal and had basked in the glory of being one of the best.

But now, he was no longer best. He was least. He was worst. He wasn’t even a knight anymore, but a man sentenced to death. Soth was a fugitive from justice and a source of shame to his beloved Knights of Solamnia.

He had made a mockery of the knighthood.

Succeeding on this quest would return them to their former glory.

He would give up his life.

It was for the best.

The knights headed east after leaving Dargaard Keep, then traveled south along the eastern foot of the Dargaard Mountains.

On the morning of the third day, they changed their direction, and began heading southeast through Estwilde, along a seldom used trail that would take them across the broad, hilly basin between the Dargaard Mountains and the northeastern tip of the Khalkist Mountains.

Unlike the smooth grasslands of the plains of Solamnia, Estwilde was covered by rugged foothills, pine forests and high mountains.

And while Estwilde was famous all over Krynn for its dangerous inhabitants—everything from evil humans to
goblins, from ogres to hill dwarves—Soth and his men saw not a soul on their journey.

“Do you think they recognize us as Knights of Solamnia and are keeping a respectful distance?” pondered Colm Farold after they’d been riding the trail through Estwilde for almost a day without seeing any sign of life.

“Since when do ugly beasts such as goblins and ogres respect anything about the knighthood?” asked Caradoc.

The knights laughed.

Soth did not.

“It is Paladine,” he said.

“What?” asked Farold.

“It is Paladine,” Soth repeated. “He is guiding our way, assuring safe passage so I may complete the quest unhindered by such distractions as ogres and goblins.”

The knights fell silent. They had never heard Soth speak so solemnly about his quest before. The jovial camaraderie they had been experiencing was gone.

Caradoc tried to get it back. “Well as long as Paladine is watching out for us, maybe he could see to it that a goat crossed our path. I’m half starved.”

Something appeared up ahead along the trail.

“What’s that?” asked Wersten Kern, pointing.

“Caradoc asked for a goat,” said Soth. “What else would it be?”

Caradoc and Kern drew their swords and kicked at their mounts.

Indeed it was a goat.

And a delicious one at that.

The air in the northern tip of the Khalkist Mountains was cold and dry. The knights had been riding for more than ten days and were growing weary in the thin mountain air. Still, they continued on undaunted but looked forward to getting past the hilly, barren mountainsides and
onto the much warmer plains of Istar.

At least as they neared Istar they would come into contact with others. The journey so far had been rather dull because Soth had few words for them and they’d exhausted most topics of discussion days ago. And, truth be told, with Soth doomed to an inevitable and horrifying death, no one felt much like talking. Crossing paths with someone else, be they human, elf, dwarf, ogre or some manner of beast, would be a blessing.

They passed the northern coastal settlement of Thoradin, a sprawling village referred to as a “kingdom” by the mountain dwarves who lived there. The knights kept themselves a half-day’s journey to the south of the village lest they be spotted by wandering dwarfs and asked to pay a visit to the king.

And now they entered an area of the Khalkist Mountains rumored to be crawling with Zakhar, a reclusive and mysterious race of dwarves horribly disfigured by an ancient mold plague and ostracized from the rest of dwarven culture. According to the tales, the Zakhar—a word meaning “cursed ones”—killed any non-Zakhar who trespassed on their land.

The knights looked forward to meeting up with the Zakhar. In addition to giving their swords a workout, the ugly beasts would provide them with something to talk about the rest of the way to Istar.

“Did you see that?” asked Caradoc.

“See what?” said Farold.

“There, up ahead on the trail. Movement in the brush.”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Kern.

“There was something,” said Caradoc. “I swear.”

“Perhaps the cold has numbed your brain,” said Kern. “There is nothing there.”

“Quiet!” commanded Soth. “There
is
something there.”

The knights all looked ahead to see what it was. There, standing on the trail were three elf-maids.

“Well, well,” said Caradoc. “Of all the things to come
across in these godforsaken mountains, the last thing I expected to see was a trio of elves.” He smiled. “And pretty ones at that.”

“Silence!” shouted Soth.

Caradoc pursed his lips. Farold and Kern dared not speak.

Soth rode up ahead, stopping in front of the elf-maids who seemed to be in no hurry to give Soth room to pass.

“Step aside, good elf-woman,” Soth said firmly. “We have business with the Kingpriest in Istar that cannot be delayed.”

The elf-maids laughed.

Soth’s horse took one step forward. “I said step aside!”

The tallest of the three maids, a svelte, black-haired beauty with similarly dark eyes stepped forward and smiled at Soth. “What makes you think the Kingpriest, one who is a god on Krynn, would want to speak with the likes of you … Soth?” She said his name in a long hiss, and when she was done, she looked as if the word had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Soth was surprised that the elf-maid knew his name, but made sure not to let it show on his face.

“I am Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”

The elf-maids laughed. “You are nothing, Soth. You are the son of a clerk, a mock-knight. You tried to deny your ancestry, tried to hide it behind the great deeds of your uncles and cousins. But now all of Krynn knows you were never meant to be a knight because you’ve proven it, being too cowardly to accept your fate like a true Knight of Solamnia.”

Again Soth was shocked that these maids knew so much of his personal history. It angered him that such matters had become common knowledge across the continent of Ansalon.

The other knights came up from behind to join Soth, taking up a position on either side of him.

“My past is certainly of no concern of yours. And neither is it of any concern to the Kingpriest.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong, Soth. So wrong. If a mere mortal is sent to dispose of the Kingpriest, then at the very least that mortal should be a knight of the highest honor. Not a common criminal. Not a murderer of women and children. Not the killer of his own half-brother and sister.”

Caradoc inhaled a gasp at the mention of this. Like Soth, he had done his best to bury the despicable deed deep in his past.

“How easily we forget such trivialities as the murder of our siblings, eh Soth?”

Soth said nothing. Outwardly, he could only seethe in anger at the elf-maid’s words, but inside, being so casually reminded of those earlier killings had left him thoroughly shaken.

“Pay no attention to them, milord,” said Farold. “They have obviously been sent by the Kingpriest to stop you. The Kingpriest knows of your quest, knows you can stop him and he is afraid of you. That much is obvious by this feeble attempt at trickery.”

“Ah, the loyal Knight Farold,” said the elf-maid to the left of the dark-haired woman. She was slightly shorter than the dark-haired elf and had a full head of long red hair that was the color of blood. “Another disgraced knight. A traitor to the knighthood who could not abide by the decision of the high justice, who could not allow his beloved Lord Soth the chance to die with what little dignity remained.”

“Enough!” cried Soth. “I will not have my knights spoken to in this way!”

The red-headed maid continued on as if she hadn’t heard Soth’s warning. “The same is true for Knight Caradoc and Knight Kern. The Oath and the Measure suited all of you until it sought justice against the vile Soth. Then you forgot your years of training and devotion. And for what? To save a butcherer of women, a slaughterer of
innocent children?”

“Enough, I said!” repeated Soth, his anger barely contained.

“The truth is a powerful weapon isn’t it, Soth?” said the third maid, shorter and heavier than the others with bright blonde hair that hung down over her shoulders. She was easily the least attractive of the three and spoke in a harsh voice that grated against Soth’s already fatigued nerves.

“I do not fear the truth!” said Soth. But even as he spoke the words, he remembered the trial and how he feared the news of his deeds would devastate Isolde when she learned of them. But even though that was behind him now, the thought of it compelled him to add, “At least not any more.”

Indeed, what truths did he have to fear now?

“Perhaps you
should
fear the truth,” said the blonde maid. “For the truth I know would be enough to drive any man insane.”

“Step aside and let us pass,” Caradoc interjected. “We are wasting too much of Lord Soth’s precious time.”

“Let her speak,” ordered Soth.

“Milord,” pleaded Farold, “these maids have been sent by the Kingpriest with the sole purpose of preventing you from reaching Istar and completing your quest. Remember the Cataclysm mentioned in the vision. Remember what will happen to the people of Krynn. Remember your son.”

“Ah, Soth’s son, Peradur,” said the fair-haired maid. “How sure are you that he is actually your son?”

“What?”

“Milord, we have no time for—”

“Silence!” shouted Soth. “What of my son?”

“Your son?” she said mockingly. “Or the son of every able-bodied man in Dargaard Keep?”

Soth gritted his teeth.

The fair-haired maid simply laughed again. “You couldn’t
give Lady Korinne a child. What makes you think you were able to give one to Isolde?”

Soth considered the question. “Korinne was barren. She could not conceive.”

Again a laugh. “Foolish Soth. Korinne had no difficulty conceiving after she paid a visit to the hedge witch. And even a horribly painful birth didn’t stop her from producing a child.” She shook her head and pointed an accusing finger at Soth. “You were the one unable to give her a child.”