Lord Soth (44 page)

Soth’s mind was reeling. He felt dizzy with rage and heartbreak.

“But I did produce a child. Peradur is my son!”

“No, Soth. Not yours. Whose exactly, none can say. But not yours.”

“You lie,” spat Soth. “I saved Isolde’s life. She adores me. She would never be unfaithful to me. She would not dare.”

All three of the elf-maids cackled at this.

“Foolish man,” said the dark-haired elf-maid.

“Soth, the unwise,” said the redhead.

“Did it never strike you as odd that Isolde was the one to receive the vision which sent you on your quest?”

“I prayed to Paladine,” Soth said between clenched teeth. “He showed me the destruction that would be brought on by the Cataclysm. Isolde prayed to Mishakal. The goddess showed her how it could be prevented.”

“So gullible,” said the dark elf.

“Soth, the naive,” said the redhead.

“And did you not think it suspicious that Isolde, a woman who swore her love to you, and supposedly bore your child, would so readily be willing to send you off on a journey that could only end with your death?”

Soth had wondered about this, but was able to dismiss his concerns because of the strength of Isolde’s faith. Now, suddenly, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“While you and your knights have been riding clear
across Ansalon on a fool’s quest, Isolde has been bedding all the knights and squires you’ve left behind. She’s even been intimate with a few of the footmen, as well as a few others you might not want to know about.” The elf-maid’s eyes grew wide as she took obvious delight in striking a blow deep into Soth’s heart. “But perhaps it’s best this way,” the maid continued. “At least now Isolde will be reunited with the father of her child—whomever he might be.”

“Silence!” Soth cried.

He wanted to shut the words from his mind but he could not. The elf-maids had known so much about him, known the truth about Lady Korinne’s death, known the truth about the murders of his half-siblings. If they knew the truth about those matters, then why wouldn’t what they said about Isolde also be true?

That meant that …

Peradur was not his child, but a bastard.

And Isolde was not a loving wife and devoted mother, but a harlot seductress who cared not whom she slept with.

The more Soth thought about it, the more sense it made. Isolde had been so forward with him, seducing him while he’d still been wed to Korinne, even while Korinne was in pain and heavy with child. She was an ambitious social climber willing to bed her way into the position of lady of the keep.

If she’d been capable of that, what was to stop her from being unfaithful to Soth while he was away? What was to stop her from simply finding another knight in a position of power now that Soth was an outlaw? And finally, what better way was there to bed whomever she pleased than to send him away on a quest from which he would never return?

The more sense it made, the more he raged.

The elf-maids continued to babble on, but Soth could no longer hear their individual words. It just seemed to be a
wall of black noise designed to drive him mad.

“Silence!” he cried.

The elf-maids continued.

“She sees every man as her lover …

“Enough!” he shouted.

“And she loves every man she sees …”

“Si-lence!” he screamed.

The elf-maids would not stop.

Soth drew his broadsword.

“Milord, no,” gasped Farold.

But it was far too little, too late.

Soth’s blood ran hot, heated by flames of jealousy and betrayal, even hatred. Rage clouded his thoughts, took control of his mind and body, governing his actions. He dismounted his horse in seconds.

The elf-maids were still speaking, almost in chants of torment now, not caring that Soth was fast approaching them with his sword raised high above his head.

“Her desire burns hot …”

Soth was upon them.

“Her bed is alight with flames of passion …”

With a single, swift motion Soth struck down the lovely dark-haired elf, cutting her in two from her left shoulder to her right hip. The pieces of her fell to the ground, but her large dark eyes still watched him and her mouth still moved, her words could still be heard.

“With you out of the way …”

Soth struck her again.

“She will be free to indulge herself …”

Again and again he struck her, until the maid was silenced.

Breathing hard, he moved on to the elf-maid with red hair, swinging his sword from left to right in a powerful arc that cut her down like a small sapling.

“When she’s done with the men of the keep …”

Soth raised his sword, hilt high, point to the ground.

“More will come from miles around …”

And brought it down through the maid’s throat, choking off her next word, replacing it with a muted gurgle.

That left just the blonde.

Soth lunged forward and ran his sword through her.

She seemed to laugh as the blade pierced her body. And when she spoke it sounded as if she felt no pain at all.

“Lord Loren Soth,” she cackled. “Lord Cuckold of Dargaard Keep.”

Soth pulled the sword from the maiden and began hacking with powerful two-handed blows. The maid fell to the ground, dead, but Soth still would not stop. He just kept striking the body until it was little more than a spot of gore strewn across the rocky ground.

And still he would not stop. He continued to hack and stab at the maids like a madman.

“Milord!” cried Farold.

The knights moved forward, grabbing at his arms to make him stop. Soth finally let the tip of his sword rest against the ground as he stopped to look at the carnage.

Then, as they watched, the remains of the three elf-maids slowly began to fade into the rocky slope of the mountainside.

“Phantoms,” gasped Kern.

“Sent by the Kingpriest to stop us from reaching Istar,” added Farold.

Soth, however, remained silent.

To him, it mattered not what the messengers had been. Flesh and blood or phantom, their message had still been true.

“Now we can continue on our way,” said Caradoc, pausing a moment so that Soth could agree.

But Soth said nothing.

Instead he turned for his horse, mounted it and began riding west in the direction from which they had come.

Farold, Caradoc and Kern watched Soth ride away.

“Where in the name of Paladine is he going?” asked Kern.

“Dargaard Keep, most likely,” said Caradoc.

“And what of us?” asked Farold.

“Do we have a choice?” asked Caradoc.

“We could continue on to Istar,” said Farold. “We could confront the Kingpriest ourselves.”

“Which would accomplish nothing,” said Caradoc. “Soth had the knowledge that he would continue to rise from the dead until the Kingpriest was vanquished. We have no such guarantee. We would simply die and the Kingpriest would carry on.” He looked at Farold, then at Kern. “I, for one, refuse to give up my life so foolishly.”

“Agreed,” said Farold.

Kern simply nodded. “If Soth is headed back to the keep,” he asked, “what will he do when he gets there?”

The three knights were silent as they considered the question. They looked at the barren ground where the elf-maids had died and subsequently vanished.

Finally, Farold raised his head and looked with a stricken expression at his fellow knights.

“For the love of Paladine,” whispered Kern, “no!”

Caradoc didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he turned for his horse and mounted it. Then he kicked at its ribs, sending the beast surging forward.

Farold and Kern followed.

Traitorous, cheating, conniving, lying, evil, wicked elf-wench.

Soth continued to ride west, his mind locked in a continuous and destructive cycle of anger, hate and rage.

She sent me in search of my death.

He was pushing himself and his mount to the limits of endurance. He should have fallen to exhaustion long ago, but both he and his horse seemed to scarcely feel the strain.

Now it is her death toward which I ride.

He kicked at his horse, forcing it to run faster and it responded with a longer stride.

Deceptive, scheming, corrupt, deceitful, disloyal, wanton trollop.

Caradoc’s horse staggered after catching its hoof on a rock. The beast snorted and righted itself, but after a few steps it began to stagger.

The knights had been riding for what seemed like days.

But for all their efforts they had been unable to make up any distance. Soth and his horse seemed to be creatures possessed of an otherworldly sort of power that would not forsake them until they reached their destination.

Suddenly, Caradoc’s horse faltered, this time plowing into the ground with all its weight.

Dead weight.

Caradoc gathered himself up.

Kern and Farold noticed Caradoc had fallen behind and circled back toward him.

“Ride with me,” offered Farold, patting his horse’s sweat-soaked haunches.

Caradoc shook his head. “Thank you, but”—his voice broke as he struggled to catch his breath—“even if I had a fresh horse, it would matter not. We are pursuing a demon we will never catch. Soth is utterly possessed by a jealous rage. Even if we could catch him, I seriously doubt we could ever stop him.”

Farold’s horse snorted, as if in agreement.

“I believe you are correct,” said Farold, his voice followed by a long sigh of defeat.

“This is a matter that is out of our hands,” agreed Kern.

The two knights dismounted, took their horses by the reins and, along with Caradoc, took up the chase again, this time on foot.

Night was falling, but Soth continued to ride.

As Farold, Caradoc and Kern struggled to make their way through the Khalkist Mountains, they could just make him out in the distance—a faint silhouette against the pale red and white light of the moons.

Chapter 31