LORD SOTH
by
Edo van Belkom


Lord Soth
Edo van Belkom

"It is done."
Hearing the words, young Loren Soth breathed a deep
sigh of relief. "Well done, Caradoc. You have served me
well."
Soth's seneschal stepped into the cottage and began disrobing.
He tossed his clothes upon the hearth, watching the
blood of his victims burn in shades of orange and blue.
Aynkell Soth looked up at his son for the first time in
hours. "Now when you take over rule of Nightlund, no
other heir can come forward to lay claim to it." He turned
to Caradoc. "Thank you for the removal of the black
marks upon my soul."
"The black marks may have been removed from your
soul," said Knight Soth, "but they are not gone. They have
merely been transferred. The weight of my father's sins is
now mine alone to bear. What a lovely gift to receive so
soon before my wedding day."
"Don't be so quick to blame and condemn me, my son,"
Aynkell said. "You are of my flesh and of my blood. You
always will be. There's too much of me in you for you to
be so critical of my life."
The knight's face darkened into a scowl. His father
began to laugh. Loren stormed out of the cottage.
As he joined Caradoc and began his homeward ride, the
young knight could still hear his father's mocking laughter
ringing in his ears ...
Haunting him for many, many miles.
From the Creators of the
DRAGONLANCEŽ Saga
WARRIORS

Knights of the Crown
Roland Green

Maquesta KarThon
Tina Daniell

Knights of the Sword
Roland Green

Theros Ironfeld
Don Perrin

Knights of the Rose
Roland Green

Lord Soth
Edo van Belkom
DRAGONLANCEŽ
Warriors Series
Volume Six

LORD Soth
1996 TSR, Inc.
All Rights Reserved.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws or the United States of America. Any reproduction
or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited
without the express written permission of TSR, me.

All TSR characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks
owned by TSR, Inc.

Distributed to the book trade in the United States by Random House, me. and in Canada by
Random House of Canada Ltd.

Distributed in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd.

Distributed to the toy and hobby trade by regional distributors.

Cover art by Jeff Easley. Interior art by Valeric A. Valusek.

DRAGONLANCE and the TSR logo are registered trademarks owned by TSR, me.

First Printing: December, 1996
Printed in the United States of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 9562260
987654321
8377XXX1501
ISBN: 0786905190

TSR, Inc.
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DEDICATION

For my brother, Lou van Belkom
who thought I was pursuing a fool's dream
but thankfully kept his opinion to himself.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A lot of people played a part in bringing this novel into
being. I'd like to thank Executive Editor Brian Thomsen
for having confidence in my ability; Margaret Weis and
Tracy Hickman for creating such an interesting character
to write about; editor Barbara G. Young for helping me
smooth out some of the rough spots; fellow TSR author
Ed Greenwood for advice and encouragement early on;
and beta-testers Don Bassingthwaite, David Livingstone
Clink and David Nickle for helping me make sure Lord
Soth remained true to form.
Dear Astinus;

I know it has been your intention for many years to pen a volume
chronicling the spectacular rise and fall of Lord Loren Soth
of Dargaard Keep. Understandably, work on the literally thousands
upon thousands of other volumes in your wondrous
library has always kept you from this important task.
That is why I accepted this assignment with both eagerness
and trepidation. While I was anxious to show you that your confidence
in my abilities was well-founded, I was also unsure
about those same abilities and concerned that they might not be
up to the challenge of recording a life story so tangled and mysterious
as that of Lord Soth's.
The history of the lord of Dargaard Keep is a fascinating one,
full of as much honor, devotion to duty, love, knightly law and
discipline, as cruelty, jealousy, greed, falsehood, unbridled lust,
infidelity and murder.
Putting it to paper was not an easy task.
for despite how well his exploits are known to the people of
Krynn, the details of each are as varied as the number of people
who are familiar enough to speak of them.
Before this volume was completed, the life story of Lord Soth--
also known to many by such names as Knight of the Black Rose,
the Death Knight, or the Death Lord--had been a mixture of legend,
fable, myth, spoken histories and long-lost tales.
For example, there are many variations of the story concerning
the death of Soth's first wife, Lady Korinne Gladria of Palanthas. (Even in this, something as simple as a name, there have been errors as the woman has sometimes been incorrectly
referred to as Lady Gladria of Korinne.) Lady Korinne wed Soth
in a magnificent ceremony on the grounds outside Dargaard
Keep. But while some histories have reported that she died during
childbirth, or merely under "mysterious circumstances,"
they are all only partly true.
But you, Astinus of Palanthas, Master Historian of Krynn,
did not become a master historian by chronicling half-truths and
lies, and neither shall I. The reputation and respect you have

earned in every corner of Krynn has been won by your tireless
pursuit of truth in all matters pertaining to its history. It has
been my goal to produce a history worthy of that same respect.
Whether I have achieved that goal or not, only you are qualified
to judge. On my own behalf, I will say only this. While this
is as well a researched history of Lord Soth's life as I could pen,
I cannot say in all honesty that it is the one true version. For
while I worked diligently to confirm each fact found in the various
written records scattered throughout Solamnia and across
the four corners of Krynn, far too many aspects of the story
could only be verified verbally, and even then by--how shall I
say?--less than reputable sources.
Speaking in more general terms, I found Soth's tale to be an
utterly shocking one. Yet, as startling as it is, I suspect that there
were even more disturbing elements that, even with the utmost
diligence, I was unable to unearth. With much regret, I fear that
those parts of Soth's history might be lost to us forever.
Nevertheless, I have combined all of the reliable facts concerning
lord Soth's sordid life and gathered them together in a single
volume for the very first time. The result is as true a history of the
knight's life as is within my ability to produce.
I submit it for your approval.

Verril Ester-os, Second Aesthetic
Great Library of Astinus of Palanthas
401 A.C.

prologue.

Three moons might well have been in the sky, but only two dared show
their faces. Lunitari glowed a dark shade of red while Solinari shone a
bright white, leaving the dark moon Nuitari to be hidden by the night.

Lunitari and Solinari hung over the dark rippling waters of the northern
sea like a pair of watchful eyes, shining crimson and white light down
onto the sleeping port city of Kalaman, and casting spiderlike shadows
across its dim, quiet streets.

A dark figure moved swiftly through the shadows. His movements were
strong and sure, like those of a nobleman, but his dress was an
ill-fitting patchwork of worn and tattered garments, suggesting the man
was no more noble than a petty thief or common rogue.

Whatever the man's class, he moved quietly from shadow to shadow,
avoiding the light as much as he shunned the open spaces between the
scattered homes and shops.

When he reached the open mouth of a darkened alley, he stepped into its
blackness and paused for a moment to catch his breath. As he stood
there, he felt for the weapons hidden beneath his cloak, making sure
everything was in place. He'd have only one chance to complete his task
and he knew failure would not be tolerated.

After he had rested and his breathing had slowed, he ventured deeper
into the alley's uncertain darkness.

After a short walk, he came upon the open back door of a popular
tavern--The Rose and Thistle. From inside, the faint sound of laughter
and song echoed into the alley while flickering firelight blazed through
the half-open doorway like rays from the midday sun.

The dark figure stopped and strained to hear the people singing merrily
inside, all the while making sure to keep his distance from the warm
light emanating from within.

Next to the door, on the side closest to him, one of the tavern's more
inebriated patrons--a dwarf--was propped up against the back wall of the
establishment, no doubt sleeping off the effects of an over-indulgence
of its finest ale. The dwarf was sleeping so peacefully it seemed a
shame to wake him, but there was no time for such polite considerations.

Not tonight.

So without further hesitation the shadowy figure reared back and gave
the dwarf a hard kick in the upper thigh.

"Ow!" exclaimed the dwarf, then muttered sleepily, "I assure you sir, I
had no idea she was the daughter of a--"

So the dwarf was a scoundrel as well as a drunkard! He gave the dwarf
another hard kick, this time causing the dwarf's ale-soaked eyes to
flutter open. After taking a moment to wipe the last remnants of sleep
from his eyes, the dwarf looked up at the dark, hooded figure standing
over him ... And gasped in fear. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a young man, a bard"--he said the word as if it were a
bad thing--"by the name of Argol Birdsong. Is it true that he performs
in this tavern on occasion?" "Now," the dwarf said casually, foolishly
thinking he held a position of power over the dark figure standing
before him. "Who wants to know?"

The hooded man stepped on the dwarf's foot then, pressing down hard with
the heel of his boot. "I'm not interested in, nor do I have the time for
dwarven games. Is he here or not?" He turned his boot to emphasize the
point.

"Ow!" the dwarf cried, then quickly nodded. "Y-yes, he's here, he's
here," he said. "In fact, that's him singing now."

The dark man held his breath for a moment and listened.

He could just make out the sound of some ballad coming from inside the
tavern. Satisfied, he lifted his boot from the dwarf's foot and fished
inside his pouch for some coins.

"Go inside and tell Argol Birdsong there's an old friend waiting for him
out in the alley." He dropped a few coins onto the dwarf's lap. "Then
remain inside until you've drunk your fill ... and then some."

The dwarf immediately stopped rubbing his aching foot and picked up the
scattered coins. "Yes sir!" he said, jumping to his feet and limping
back inside the tavern.

When the dwarf was gone, the dark figure looked up and down the alley
then retreated into the safety of the shadows.

There, he waited for the singing inside to come to an end.

When the tavern was filled with the soft mumble of drunken voices
carrying on in contented conversation, he tensed his body and listened
for the sound of approaching footsteps.

When the sound came moments later, he drew back his cloak and took hold
of the heavy dwarven warhammer that had been hanging from a loop on his
belt.

"Hello?" called Argol Birdsong in a melodic voice. "Is someone here?"
The bard paused a moment, then smiled broadly. "Aristal, my love? Are
you here waiting for me?"

The man in the shadows took a moment to examine the features of the
bard. Yes, the singer certainly bore the family resemblance that he had
been told to look for. He stepped forward, partway into the light, but
his face remained obscured by the folds of his hood.

"Who are you?" asked the bard, his voice no longer so birdlike and
perhaps just a little bit frightened.

The stranger ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Are you
Argol Birdsong?"

"Yes, but--"

The man's next word died in his throat as the warhammer suddenly
appeared, glinting at the top of its arc for a brief moment before
slamming down onto the bard's head.

Once ... Twice ... Three times ... The bard's body slumped forward, then
crumpled lifelessly, thudding heavily onto the alley floor.

And then all that could be heard was the rustle of a cloak and the
fading click of boots as they hurried out of the alley.

Into the night.

    * *

The assassin ran quickly through the streets of Kalaman, staying away
from the main roads and always remaining close to the protective cover
of shadows. After running for several blocks, he slowed his pace and
added a slight stumble to his gait to suggest that he'd spent most of
the night sampling ale and wine of dubious merit.

When he reached the livery stable housing his horse, he tipped the
stableman handsomely and was quickly on his way, riding fast enough to
appear as if he were headed somewhere, but not so fast as to appear as
if he were running away from something.

Outside of the city's limits, he hastened his horse's pace to a trot and
then to a full gallop. He continued riding hard and fast for several
minutes until he came upon a sharp bend in the Vingaard River.

The water was as black as the darkest night, even in the middle of the
day. It was also deep as a well, as much as a hundred feet or more at
its center.

It was the perfect place to make something vanish.

Remaining on his horse, the assassin moved to the edges of the southern
river bank and opened his cloak. He unfastened the blood-stained
warhammer from his belt and swung it wildly over his head by the leather
thong tied to the end of its handle. After several quick rotations, he
let go of the thong, flinging the hammer out over the water. The weapon
whistled slightly as it twirled and sliced through the air, then made a
faint splash as it broke the water's surface midway between the two
banks.

The hammer remained on top of the water for a moment, reflecting a
sliver of moonlight as the hammerhead turned for the bottom, and then it
was gone.

Without a second glance, he turned from the river, kicked at his horse's
ribs and was soon riding hard once more, heading west.

One more stop. One more task, and this night would be over.

As the moons slowly arced overhead, he came upon a small hamlet on the
western outskirts of Kalaman called Villand. When he began to recognize
the outlines of individual homes and cottages, he dismounted from his
now heaving horse and gave it a hard slap on its haunches. The startled
horse reared back and leaped forward. After two frantic strides it
slowed to a more comfortable pace that would see it return to its home
in a day or two.

Now alone in the village, the assassin again moved stealthily through
winding streets, clinging to the cover afforded by the rough-hewn
buildings and scattered trees.

When he was near what felt like the center of the village he took a map
from his inside cloak pocket and unfurled it beneath Solinari's generous
moonlight.

Several of the bigger homes and shops were detailed on the map and after
recognizing two of them, he was better able to orient himself and learn
of his position within the village. If he wasn't mistaken, his
destination was just four houses down the street on the left.

He clenched the map in his left hand and quietly counted off the houses
as he passed.

When he arrived at the small unassuming cottage, he checked the front
door for a sign. It was there. A double loop connected at its center.

He checked the sign with the one scribbled next to the note on the map.
It was the same double loop. The sign of Mishakal--a benevolent goddess
known as the Healing Hand--had brought him here to this home. Except,
unlike Mishakal, the assassin wasn't here to heal.

With the careful and deft hand of a thief, the assassin picked the lock
on the door and eased it open, praying that the owner of the house had
been particular about keeping his hinges well oiled. Fortunately he had
been, and the door swung quietly open and closed. In seconds he was
inside, moving about the house in utter silence.

The first room he checked was just off the kitchen. As promised by the
notes written on the map in his hand, it was empty. He moved through the
larger room in the center of the house and came upon another smaller
room.

This had to be the bedroom he was looking for.

It was separated from the adjoining room by a simple white sheet hung in
the doorway. With a gentle hand, the assassin pulled the sheet aside and
stepped into the room.

The window set in the outside wall was bare and moonlight bathed the
room with a soft, incandescent glow, as if the light of Mishakal herself
were shining down on the room's sole occupant.

He moved closer to the bed for a better look.

There was a half-elven female lying there. She was attractive for a
half-elf. In fact, she was attractive by any standard of measure.

As with the bard, there could be no mistaking this woman's identity. She
was indeed the one he sought. Her name was Alsin Felgaard, and she was a
milkmaid working on one of the many farms that surrounded Villand.

He moved still closer, then recoiled slightly. Even though he knew what
to expect, the features of the half-elf's face were strikingly similar
to those of Argol Birdsong. In fact, if the creature lying on the bed
hadn't been half-elven, he would have sworn that they were full brother
and sister.

The assassin pondered that thought for a moment, then did his best to
dismiss it from his mind. His task was not to think, only to do as he'd
been told. If he thought about it for too long, his loyalty might waver,
and he couldn't afford to have that happen.

If it ever did, he'd be a dead man.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he drew back his cloak once
more. This time he removed the battleaxe from where it hung on his belt
and gripped it firmly in both of his gloved hands.

Slowly, he raised the axe over his head ... And hesitated.

The half-elf was far too young and beautiful a flower to be cut down so
early in what would be a long, long life.

He inhaled a ragged breath, his shaking hands causing the battle-axe to
tremble. He let a shiver run its course, then closed his eyes and let
out a sigh. As he slowly reopened them, he shook his head.

He'd foolishly allowed himself to think again.

He took another breath, this time making sure his mind and body were
hardened by resolve to complete his mission, a resolve stronger and
colder than any steel could ever be.

This wouldn't be the first time he'd killed, he told himself.

Nor would it be the last.

He raised the battle-axe over his head again, and quickly brought it
down with a mighty stroke, cutting through the body of the sleeping
maiden and splintering the hard wooden boards of the bed she lay upon.

Her eyes opened in horror, but no sound escaped her lips.

If she'd been lucky, she hadn't suffered.

The assassin turned from the ruined and bloodied corpse, and left the
house as quietly as he'd entered.

When he stepped outside, the sweat soaking his body cooled like ice upon
his skin.

It chilled him To the bone.

He silently slipped from shadow to shadow to a spot just outside the
village where there was a fresh horse tethered to a tree waiting for
him. He mounted it easily and in seconds both horse and rider were off,
riding west across the plain toward Dargaard Keep.

He stopped only once during his ride.

When he came upon a small creek, one of the dozens of tributaries
feeding the Vingaard River, he brought his horse to a stop at the
water's edge. Unlike the waters of the Vingaard River itself, the water
here was shallow and slow moving. However, the creek's bottom was quite
muddy and the water murky, making it another desirable spot in which to
rid himself of the murder weapon.

As he did earlier that night with the warhammer, he tossed the
battle-axe into the creek. After it smacked the surface it was almost
immediately gone from view.

And now, for the first time that night, he let out a long, deep sigh of
something resembling relief.

The deeds had been done.

He remounted and allowed his horse to walk slowly for several minutes as
both horse and rider tried to catch their breath. Then, at the call of
its rider, the horse suddenly charged forward in a gallop.

After several hours, as the first rays of dawning sunlight just began to
creep over the horizon, he came upon a small and simple cottage at the
northernmost foot of the Dargaard Mountains. There was light inside the
cottage and, judging from the smoke rising out of the chimney, a roaring
fire in its hearth.

He pulled back on the reins and the horse gratefully slowed to a walk.
He guided the horse into the stable, covered it with a blanket, provided
it with small amounts of food and water, and then headed for the
cottage.

He knocked three times and waited for someone to answer the door.

Two men sat by the fire in the small wooden cottage, one rocking in his
chair, the other still and silent, as if in deep meditation. The cottage
was small, perhaps even cramped, but because they were using it for just
this one clandestine meeting, it was more than adequate for their
purpose.

Although the flickering light of the fire was dim, the physical
similarities between the two were obvious. Both were big men, tall and
heavy-boned, suggesting they were formidable fighters. Their facial
features were almost identical, and judging from the square jaw, the
prominent brow and high cheekbones, the only real distinction between
the two was the passage of time.

The older man had salt and pepper hair--somewhat thinned up top and
around the edges--and a full beard which had been blanched white by
years of worry. By contrast the younger man's hair was a thick dark
shock hanging down over his shoulders in curls, and his pitch black
mustache was stylishly long and tapered. He appeared as yet untouched by
life's more weighty burdens.

Beside their ages, the only other difference between the two men could
be found in their eyes. The elder's eyes seemed old and tired, the color
of dead embers the morning after a fire. In comparison, the younger
man's steelgray eyes were sharp and piercing despite their being set
deeply into the dark sockets under his brow. And even though his eyes
were slightly obscured in shadow, they still had the appearance of being
mysteriously alight from within--some might even say, blazing.

Suddenly the younger of the two sat upright in his chair. As he listened
carefully to the sounds of the night outside, he could just make out the
hoofbeats of an approaching horse.

Slowly the elder rose from his rocker, moving to the hearth to stoke the
fire.

In minutes there came three sharp knocks on the door.

The younger man hurried to the door and opened it. A man dressed in the
guise of a thief stood in the doorway, his body leaning against the jamb
for support.

"Well?"

"It is done."

Hearing the words, the younger of the two men, a Knight of the Sword
named Loren Soth, breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Well done, Caradoc.
You have served me well. Please, come inside now and rest for a while."

The older man, Knight Soth's father, Aynkell Soth, busied himself with
the fire to make it appear as if he were unconcerned about the other's
arrival.

Caradoc stepped into the cottage and began disrobing, tossing his cloak
upon the hearth. It hissed and sizzled as his sweat evaporated from the
cloth, then all at once it burst into flames. His shirt and britches
followed, the blood of his victims burning in colorful shades of orange
and blue.

Without another word, Caradoc began dressing himself in his more
comfortable--and familiar--knightly garb. In addition to being a Knight
of the Crown, Caradoc was also the younger Soth's steward, or seneschal,
serving his master with unwavering loyalty.

Knight Soth returned to his seat and watched his most loyal steward
finish getting dressed.

"Any problems?" he asked. "Did anyone see you?"

"There was a drunkard behind the Rose and Thistle, but I never revealed
my face to him."

Soth nodded. "And the weapons?"

"A. warhammer and a battle-axe, making the deeds appear to be the work
of renegade dwarves." A pause.

"Both weapons are currently resting beneath some very cold and very dark
waters."

"Excellent," Knight Soth said. "You've done well."

Aynkell Soth returned to his rocker and looked up at his son for the
first time in hours. "Yes," he said in a voice that was surprisingly
devoid of emotion. "Now when you take over rule of Knightlund, you can
be certain that no other heir will come forward to lay claim to it."

Knight Soth looked at his father for several seconds before speaking to
him in a voice that was dripping with contempt. "It seems to me that as
a bard and a milkmaid, neither of the two products of your affairs would
have been of the type inclined to claim it." "Perhaps not," said Aynkell
Soth. "But if they had known of their lineage, known of their
birthright, then perhaps ..." "It's of little consequence now," Caradoc
said flatly.

"They are both dead." "Yes," said Aynkell, nodding. "Thank you." "For
what?" asked Caradoc, doing nothing to stop his voice from rising in
anger. He was loyal to Knight Soth, not to the knight's father, who was
nothing more than a secondrate clerk and first-rate philanderer. "For
the murder of your own flesh and blood, the half-kin of my master?"

If the elder Soth was surprised by the young man's impertinence, he did
not show it. "Why? For the removal of the black marks upon my soul,"
Aynkell answered, his voice still strong, still confident.

"The black marks might have been removed from your soul," said Knight
Soth, "but they are not gone. They have merely been transferred. The
black marks that were once upon your soul, are now upon mine. The full
weight of my father's sins are now mine alone to bear. What a lovely
gift to receive scant months before my wedding day."

Soth knew that the evil deeds were necessary to assure his ascension to
the lordship of Dargaard Keep--and he would let nothing interfere with
that--but he resented the fact that his father had made such murders
necessary.

The sarcasm in young Soth's words was too much for the elder Soth to
bear. He turned away from his son in order to avoid having to look him
in the face.

"You might not have been a Knight of Solamnia," said Knight Soth. "But
you were familiar enough with the Oath and the Measure to have at least
tried to live by its code."

"I was never suited to become a knight, nor to live like one," Aynkell
said, his voice sad and apologetic. His face appeared to have aged over
the last few minutes with the realization that his son would likely
never forgive him his past indiscretions.

"A poor excuse."

"Perhaps, but it is the only one I have." Soth shook his head and
sighed. "You may attend the wedding and take your place of honor upon
the high table.

But it is only at Korinne's request that you will be there."

Aynkell nodded.

"I want as little to do with you as possible."

Aynkell stood motionless and impassive.

"Come, Caradoc," said Knight Soth. "Light is dawning and we must return
to the keep before we become conspicuous by our absence."

"I'll ready the horses," said Caradoc, now fully dressed and looking
every inch a Knight of the Crown. He left the cottage, giving Soth the
chance to spend a final few minutes alone with his father.

Knight Soth turned to face the older man.

"Good-bye, father," he said, knowing that the words were much more than
just a casual farewell.

The elder Soth looked at his son for a long time and the disgrace he
felt slowly disappeared. A cynical, almost mocking, smile appeared on
his face.

"Don't be so quick to condemn me, my son," Aynkell said. "You are of my
flesh and of my blood. You always will be. There's too much of me in you
for you to be so critical of my life."

For a moment Knight Soth was speechless.

In the intervening silence, Aynkell began to laugh.

The knight's face darkened in a scowl as he turned abruptly away from
his father and stormed out of the cottage.

As he joined Caradoc and began his homeward ride, the young knight could
still hear his father's mocking laughter ringing in his ears ...
Haunting him for many, many miles.

book one.

son's rise Chapter 1.

Dargaard Keep was an impressive sight, even to those who had watched it
slowly being constructed and had been familiar with its commanding
presence for years. It was a keep unlike any other on the face of Krynn,
looking for all the world as if it had grown up out of the ground,
rather than been painstakingly built stone by stone.

It was an appearance that had not happened by chance.

With its unique shape, labyrinthine hallways, spires and towers, and
deep multiple levels of caverns and dungeons, it had taken over a
hundred of the best stone cutters, masons and smiths from the four
corners of Krynn more than five years to complete. But all who set their
eyes upon it agreed that the years of hard labor had been more than
worth it, for now that it was finished it stood triumphantly at the
northern end of the Dargaard Mountains as one of the true architectural
wonders of Solamnia, perhaps even of all of Krynn.

The keep had been designed by Knight Soth himself, who'd wanted to
create a fitting tribute not only to those Solamnic Knights who had so
bravely fallen in battle over the ages, but to his numerous uncles and
cousins, all of them knights, who had died when the great plagues swept
across Solamnia in the latter years of the Age of Might. Therefore the
keep had been constructed in the shape of a rose, its towers,
battlements and ramparts curling out from its center like the petals of
a flower under the warm light of the mid-morning sun. Closer to the
ground, a long column twisted up from the earth with portholes and
windows dotting the structure at various points, their intricate and
decorative brickwork giving the column the appearance of having thorns.
Protecting the keep was a high and thick stone wall which, ringing the
structure with a solid line of defense against even the most persistent
attacker, at the same time created a spacious courtyard on the grounds
for the training of knights and for the conducting of ceremonies and
other festivities.

And finally, surrounding the keep was a deep and dark chasm, said to be
bottomless but in reality no more than a hundred or so feet deep. The
only entrance to the keep was across a sturdy drawbridge which spanned
the chasm and led visitors through a well guarded gatehouse. The
gatehouse featured a heavy steel portcullis fashioned in the shape of
interlocking swords and adorned with small crowns and large roses. The
overall design of the keep made it both a wonder to behold and an
impregnable fortress. As a result, plans had been made to designate the
keep as the strategic headquarters of the Knights of the Rose, the
highest order of the Solamnic Knights.

But despite its many wonders, the most unique of all of the keep's
features was its color. At Knight Soth's insistence, the keep had been
built from a rose-colored granite popularly referred to as "bloodstone"
which had been quarried from a very rich vein in the heart of the
Dargaard Mountains. When he had first hinted that the keep should be
made of the crimson stone, the cutters and masons rebelled knowing all
too well that blood stone was the hardest of all building materials to
work with. But now, mere months after its completion, all agreed that
the additional effort and hard work had been more than worthwhile.

The keep was a thing of beauty and a source of pride to all the people
of Knightlund. It was also a structure worthy of its most noble
inhabitant. Knight Loren Soth, currently a Knight of the Sword and a
great and noble soldier for the cause of Good.

The mood around the estate on this morning was a spirited one as a
carnival-like atmosphere had pervaded all of the proceedings in and
around Dargaard Keep for the past few weeks. What else could be expected
as one of Solamnia's greatest knights prepared to be wed?

And, with a higher concentration of knights and noblemen than could be
found even on the greatest of battlefields, the merchants and tradesmen
of Solamnia had all flocked to Dargaard Keep, setting up shop weeks in
advance, trying to secure the best spots in which to sell their wares to
the wedding guests they hoped would all be in a spending mood.

On the grounds just west of the keep, blacksmiths and other skilled
tradesmen were selling newly forged armor and swords, all of which
glinted with gold, silver and brass accents and shone blindingly bright
beneath the hot morning sun. Many of them had already done great
business, selling all that they had brought and taking orders for more
custom-made articles. Around the back of the keep, tailors and
seamstresses sold resplendent garments suitable for wearing to the
wedding ceremony of a knight, while still others were busy making new
clothes specifically ordered for the occasion.

The rest of the crowd was filled out by jugglers, conjurers, minstrels
and bards, and an assortment of other fortune tellers, con artists and
prestidigitators. Busiest of these were the herbalists who purported to
be selling all varieties of love potions, the potency of which were
verified nightly by some of the more amorous of the wedding's guests.

But while the mood outside was festive, within the walls of the keep's
courtyard there was an event underway, the tone of which was somewhat
more subdued.

"Knight Soth, please come forward," said Lord Olfhar Uth Wistan, High
Warrior, and one of the presiding knights on the assembled Rose Knights
Council. Olthar sat at one end of a group of five knights seated at the
high table which was elevated atop a wooden platform positioned against
one of the courtyard's inside walls. At Olthar's immediate left were two
elderly Knights of the Rose, both of whom had long since retired from
their active knightly duties. Oren Brightblade and Dag Kurrold had both
been asked to sit on the Rose Knights Council out of respect for their
long years of distinguished service to the knighthood. Both had accepted
the honorary appointment with pleasure.

Sadly, Solamnic Grand Master Leopold Gwyn Davis had fallen ill the
previous week and was bedridden and unable to attend. A seat was left
empty upon the platform in his honor.

Soth stepped forward dressed in a combination of gleaming plate armor
and chain mail, a scarlet cloak trailing behind him. His breastplate
bore the symbol of the Order of the Sword and in contrast to the rest of
his armor, it was worn and dented, evidence of just some of the heroic
battles he had fought and won against the forces of Evil.

He knelt in front of the high table and kept his head bowed, waiting to
be spoken to.

Lord Olthar nodded to the fourth council member, signaling to the member
that he was no longer presiding over the council.

The fourth member nodded, accepting control of the ceremony.

"Are you the supplicant wishing to apply to the Order of the Rose?"
asked High Justice Lord Adam Caladen, who along with High Clerist Lord
Cyril Mordren occupied the remaining two spots on the five-member Rose
Knights Council.

Soth looked up at the high justice and nodded.

"You may begin with your family's lineage," said High Justice Caladen.

"I am Loren Soth, Knight of the Sword," he said proudly.

"My family has been one of the ruling houses of Solamnia for many, many
years. For generations, the Soth name has carried on the proud tradition
of the Solamnic Knights, pursuing the virtues of loyalty, obedience,
heroism, courage, justice and wisdom. So well have my ancestors served
the knights, and so stringent is their adherence to the ways of the Oath
and the Measure, that they were deeded the province of Knightlund in
recognition of their years of loyal service and undying devotion to the
cause of Good." Soth paused in honor of his ancestors. "It is my
intention to make sure that the same level of commitment continues under
the Soth family name for many generations to come."

A slight good-natured laugh rippled through the crowd of knights, family
and guests that had gathered within the courtyard to witness the
ceremony.

"While my father, Aynkell Soth, was not a knight, he has done his best
to serve the Knights of Solamnia well. In addition, many of my father's
brothers--my uncles-- were some of the bravest and most noble knights
Solamnia has ever seen."

"Yes," someone called from the rear of the crowd.

"And although my father was just a humble clerk, he was never without
honor, pledging loyalty to the knighthood and living his life as if he
himself were bound by the code prescribed by the Oath and the Measure."
Soth raised the volume of his voice slightly as he said these words in
order to prevent it from wavering. "For many years, he has acted as a
most capable steward of Knightlund, ensuring that the realm would be
strong and prosperous for the day that I, his only son and the one true
heir to Knightlund"--these words were also spoken loudly, almost as if
they were a challenge--"became of age and the province could rightly be
passed from his capable hands to mine."

The crowd behind Soth broke into a small cheer that grew in strength
until the high justice was forced to raise a hand and restore order.
"And what of your deeds of honor?"

Another laugh rippled through the crowd, only now it was a little
livelier. Asking Soth about his deeds of honor was like asking the great
and legendary Knight Huma Dragonbane, "And what of the dragons?"

"I have led a successful expedition to Southern Ergoth to rescue two
knights who had been captured and unjustly held as hostages by a band of
ogres while on a peaceful journey to Qualinesti."

Members of the Knights Council nodded, none more emphatically than Dag
Kurrold, whose son Degan was one of the two knights rescued in that very
raid.

"While escorting a religious pilgrimage of women to Istar to visit the
Temple of the Kingpriest, my party was crossed by a band of marauding
thieves in one of the passes leading through the mountains of Thoradin.

During the subsequent battle, I single-handedly slew four ogres and a
minotaur." Some in the crowd gasped at the mention of a minotaur, but
Soth continued. "But most important of all was that none of the women on
the pilgrimage, nor any of the knights under my command, were killed or
injured in the fight, while each and every one of our attackers was
dispatched and the pilgrimage continued on without further incident."

"Paladine be praised," came a cry from somewhere in the courtyard, no
doubt from one of the women who had been on the pilgrimage.

"Last spring," continued Soth, "while traveling through Kelwick Pass on
my way to Throtyl, I rescued a child from inside a burning cottage, then
brought that child back to Dargaard Keep where the healer was able to
save its young life."

"Hurrah!" came the faint voice of a boy, the same boy Soth had saved
from the fire.

"} successfully defended the honor of Lady Wandra after accusations had
been made against her chastity by a scorned suitor."

"Enough! Enough!" cried Lord Caladen sternly, raising his hands as if
Soth's deeds were a rising tide which needed to be stanched. "You know
as well as anyone here that a supplicant need only offer three honorable
deeds. If we were to listen to all of the deeds on your list, Knight
Soth, we might all be late for the wedding." The high justice smiled and
the tension was broken by the sound of laughter.

The tone of such council meetings was usually quite solemn, but that was
usually the result of an uncertainty about a knight's suitability for
acceptance into the Order of the Rose. For Soth, however, his ascension
into the highest order of the Knights of Solamnia was little more than a
formality. The Knights of the Rose had been eager to bring Soth into
their order for years and in fact had waived the stipulation which would
have required Soth to venture on a quest to prove his loyalty to the
order and its cause.

Sending him on a thirty-day quest to restore something which was lost,
to defeat an evil and more powerful opponent and to conduct one test of
wisdom and three of generosity seemed unnecessary in Soth's case. He had
been undergoing such tests, and passing them with flying colors for
years.

"Now," said Lord Caladen. "If anyone present has any knowledge as to why
this noble knight should not ascend to the Order of the Rose, or rule
over Knightlund as its lord, now is your chance to be heard." Although
Lord Caladen said the words jovially and as if they were little more
than a mere formality, Soth's heart leapt up into his throat as he
waited for a faint voice to break the quiet stillness of the moment.

No one said a word.

Or perhaps dared to.

"Very well, then. Knight Soth," Lord Caladen said rising to his feet.
"Your lineage is impeccable, your deeds most honorable, and your
supplication unchallenged.

However, it is the custom of the Rose Knights Council to adjourn in
private to determine whether a petition should be accepted or rejected,
and we shall do so now."

Lord Caladen moved away from the high table, stepped off the platform
and was followed into a room just off the courtyard by Lord Cyril and
Lord Olthar. Oren Brightblade and Dag Kurrold also followed the others
off the platform, but they were helped down the steps by several eager
Knights of the Crown who were more than willing to lend a hand to the
gallant knights who had fought beside their fathers and grandfathers so
many years ago.

When the Knights Council had left, Soth turned around to take a look at
the gathering. To his right, seated in the small gallery reserved for
honored guests, was Caradoc, who as Soth's seneschal, would also be
ascending an order of the knighthood soon, becoming a Knight of the
Sword.

To Caradoc's left was Korinne Gladria, waving to her shining knight with
a look that was proud, loving and somehow seductive. Soth waved back at
her, then stopped as he caught sight of his father. Aynkell Soth had
raised his clenched fist as a sign of congratulations, but Soth quickly
looked away before it became obvious that he had seen the man and was
forced to acknowledge the gesture.

Soth turned his head the other way and saw scores of his fellow knights
from all three of the orders offering their congratulations and best
wishes. Soth nodded to each in turn as he continued to scan the
gathering. Then when he looked directly behind him, he saw a wall of
bodies crammed into every available corner of the courtyard, some even
sitting atop the shoulders of the more sturdy in the crowd. Even the
balconies and battlements were full of onlookers and well-wishers. This
was a momentous occasion in Soth's life and he was glad there were
record numbers of people who wanted to be a witness to it.

The low murmur of voices was silenced by the opening of the door to the
Rose Knights Council's room. Oren Brightblade and Dag Kurrold were first
to exit and were quickly escorted back onto the platform by the young
knights who, like everyone else, were eager to hear the Rose Knights
Council's decision.

A moment later High Warrior Lord Olthar Uth Wistan, High Clerist Lord
Cyril Mordren, and High Justice Lord Adam Caladen took their places at
the high table.

They were all silent and their faces were strangely solemn.

Watching them take their seats, Soth was suddenly worried that things
were about to go terribly wrong. Had the Knights Council been made aware
of his father's indiscretions?

Had they somehow learned about the measures he had taken six months
previous? If they had, it would mean his ascension to the Order of the
Rose would be rejected; indeed, even his life as a Knight of Solamnia
might well be over.

The sweat began to bubble up on his brow.

Lord Adam Caladen looked down at Soth. "Knight Soth," he said. Lord
Caladen raised his head to address the gathering. "The Knights Council
has considered your application carefully and it is our opinion that--"

Soth drew a breath and held it.

"--you immediately be admitted into the Order of the Rose."

Soth exhaled.

The courtyard erupted in applause. Hats, helms and gloves flew into the
air in celebration.

Soth remained kneeling, knowing the ceremony was still not completed.

Lord Caladen stepped down off the platform and walked out into the
courtyard until he stood in front of the young Knight of the Sword.
After a few seconds, the cheering died down, allowing Lord Caladen the
chance to be heard. "Arise, Knight Soth."

Soth got to his feet.

"And from this day forward be known to all as Lord Loren Soth of
Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose."

Four knights stepped into the courtyard carrying a shining new
breastplate bearing the symbol of the rose in its center. After placing
the breastplate at Soth's feet, they helped him remove his scarred and
dented one bearing the symbol of the sword, then placed the new
breastplate into position.

With his armor now complete, Lord Soth absolutely gleamed.

He bowed to Lord Caladen and the rest of the Rose Knights Council, then
turned to face the bulk of the crowd. He drew his sword, raised it high
over his head, and said, "Est Sularus oth Mithas."

Then he repeated the words in Common.

"My Honor is My Life!"

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, this time accompanied by a
shower of yellow, white and red roses.

*     * *

"He is so very handsome," said one of the many maids and ladies who had
gathered in Korinne's bedchamber to help her pass the hours before her
greatly anticipated wedding to Lord Soth in the morning.

"Not to mention big and strong," said another.

"That he is," agreed several others.

"If you are lucky," said Lady Gelbmartin, a large, robust woman who was
a cousin of Korinne, and whose husband, Lord Gelbmartin, was the steward
of Vingaard Keep, "he'll put both those qualities to good use on that
bed over there." She pointed to the huge canopied four poster bed on the
other side of the room.

All of the women laughed.

"If he's anything like his father," said Lady Gelbmartin, "you two
should be busy just about every night, Palast morn to Linaras eve."

Again, laughter coursed through the room.

Korinne smiled. Although she'd never said so in as many words, she was
looking forward to her wedding night with great anticipation. And she
knew Soth was, too.

When the laughter died down, Lady Gelbmartin chattered on. "Aynkell Soth
is getting on in years, but that hasn't stopped him from flirting with
every pretty woman he sees. Why, just today I was--"

Lady Gelbmartin stopped talking when she saw three maids approaching the
gathering carrying a gift-wrapped box and a bundle of six red roses.

"Milady Korinne," said one of the maids, a woman by the name of Mirrel
who'd lived and worked in Dargaard Keep as a laundress even before it
had been completed.

"Allow us to welcome you to the keep. It will be our pleasure to serve
you as loyally and faithfully as we have served our Lord Soth."

One of the maids gave Korinne the roses and box. She sniffed at the
roses, then pulled tile ribbons off the box and opened it. Inside was a
white gown made of the softest and sheerest of fabric, which when worn
would do nothing for the sake of modesty.

"Thank you," said Korinne, standing up and holding the gown against her
body at the shoulders. "Do you think he'll like it?" "If he has a
heartbeat!" said Lady Gelbmartin.

Korinne blushed.

The rest of the women laughed.

****

Elsewhere, Lord Loren Soth sat comfortably in one of the keep's smaller
dining halls in the company of his fellow knights, including the
thirteen loyal knights under his command. He finished his tankard of ale
in a gulp and before he could place it back on the table, a footman made
sure another frosty tankard was there waiting for him to sample.

"Thank you my good man," he said, blowing the white head of foam from
the top of the tankard. Then he picked the tankard up from the table and
raised it high in the air.

"To wedded bliss!" he shouted.

"To wedded bliss!" came the cry of dozens of voices, a few of which were
slow to answer the call causing a strange echo to reverberate through
the room.

"Bliss! Wedded bliss! Bliss! Bliss!"

And finally one last cry from a knight rudely awakened by all the noise.
"To bedded wiss!" he stammered, grabbing his tankard and raising it up,
only to realize it was empty.

The knights laughed raucously and easily. After what seemed to be
endless quests and journeys across the continent of Ansalon, battling
evil forces in the never ending fight for the cause of Good, this
gathering, filled with such camaraderie and good cheer, was a more than
welcome relief, in fact, so happy were the men to see old friends and
fellow knights that (although no one would be foolish or brave enough to
suggest it) the atmosphere pervading the room would have likely been as
warm even without the lubricating effects of the ale.

"With a woman as beautiful as Korinne Gladria," said Wersten Kern, one
of the most loyal of Soth's own knights, "I should think wedded bliss
would be a certainty."

"Truth be told."

"Hear, hear."

"Paladine speaks!" came the call of the knights, followed by the sounds
of clinking tankards and the slosh of ale.

"Yes," continued Wersten Kern. "And if Lady Gladria doesn't give our
good Lord Soth the desire to produce many, many heirs, then he has no
business being such a famed Knight of Solamnia."

At another time Kern's comment might have been construed as being
covetous of Lady Gladria, but in the company of his fellow knights, the
sentiment was understood.

The room erupted again in laughter and the sound of more clinking
tankards, even a shattered one, which brought on still more laughter.

Meyer Seril, a Crown knight originally from Caergoth, the capital city
of Southland, was next to speak.

"Certainly Dargaard Keep shall soon be filling up with young knights
eager to follow in their father's footsteps."

"It's my solemn promise," Lord Soth said, "that the Soth name will live
in glory throughout Solamnia, by the deeds of its namesakes, my sons,
grandsons and great-great grandsons, for many, many years to come."

Dag Kurrold, the semiretired knight who had been sitting off by himself,
half-asleep in a corner, suddenly perked up at hearing the new direction
of the conversation.

"If the younger Soth is anything like his father," he said in a hoarse,
yet powerful voice, "there won't be a lack of children for want of
trying." He laughed then, a wheezing cackle that caused everyone to stop
and look in the direction of the old knight.

Everyone, including Soth.

The mention of his father hit Soth like a cold slap in the face. He
stood up, his wide piercing eyes and dark scowl causing everyone in the
room to fall silent.

"Leave the room!" Soth said harshly.

Dag Kurrold looked at Soth, a stunned and apologetic look on his bearded
face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I meant no--" "No, it's not you," Soth
said, his voice much softer, as if he'd reconsidered the harsh tone of
his earlier words. In fact he was now almost as apologetic as the elder
knight had been. "It's just that I've suddenly been overcome by the
whole day. I'm afraid I'm going to need my rest if I'm going to be a
presentable bridegroom at tomorrow's

ceremony Please, if everyone could leave now ..."

"The lord of the keep needs his rest," declared Wersten Kern. "There are
many other rooms in the keep we can move the festivities to."

The knights slowly began to rise, many of them taking their tankards
with them, some even carrying barrels.

Indeed, the party would be continuing in scattered parts of the keep
well into the night.

"Good night, my lord."

"Good night, sir."

"Night, Lord Soth" Each of the knights said farewell, then quickly left
the dining hall. Dag Kurrold was one of the last to leave, his face long
and troubled.

"I'm sorry for ruining the merriment," said the elder knight.

"Not to worry," said Soth, slapping a hand on the older man's back. "You
can rest easy tonight. It was not your words which troubled me."

Dag smiled. "All right, then. Good night."

The hall was soon empty.

Except for Soth.

Except for Caradoc.

Together, knight and steward filled their tankards then sat down at the
table, facing each other.

"To the glory of the noble Soth clan," Caradoc said, raising his
tankard.

Letting out a sigh, Soth raised his tankard as well. "Yes," he said. "To
an unblemished future, for generations to come."

They clanked tankards, the sound of which echoed hollowly off the cold
stone walls.

Chapter 2.

The sun had risen several hours Ago but was still barely visible over
the eastern horizon as the sky over Dargaard Keep was gray and full of
thick, dark clouds. Obviously these were not the best weather conditions
under which to celebrate a wedding. But as the dark clouds continued to
gather and roll across the sky, threatening a downpour at any moment, a
kind of reverse optimism began to infect the wedding's guests until they
were all of the opinion that a stormy wedding day could only bode well
for the bright future of the marriage.

So, content in the knowledge that the wedding ceremony would go on, rain
or shine, the squires and footmen worked quickly to assemble the benches
which would seat the more than one hundred invited guests on the grounds
just outside Dargaard Keep. The decision to move the day's festivities
outside had been made not only to accommodate the large number of
guests, but also to allow everyone who wanted to witness the spectacle a
chance to do so.

Those without official invitations would find a spot for themselves on
the hills and knolls surrounding the makeshift chapel that had been
built on the grounds. In fact, some had already secured a place for
themselves on the grassy slopes near the altar even though the wedding
itself wouldn't begin for several hours yet. All this, simply for the
sake of catching a close-up glimpse of the regal Lord Soth and his
resplendent bride-to-be, Korinne Gladria.

Conducting such an early vigil for something as simple as a good vantage
point might have seemed a bit excessive for some, but certainly not to
those native to Solamnia who looked upon a marriage between the houses
of Soth and Gladria as nothing less than a royal wedding.

Which in many ways it was.

Korinne Gladria was the daughter of Lord Reynard Gladria, one of the
most highly regarded and respected noblemen of Palanthas, not to mention
a distant cousin to the High Clerist himself. And Soth, although the son
of a humble clerk, was also a distinguished Knight of Solamnia and
member of the Order of the Rose. And, while all the Knights of Solamnia
could lay claim to royal blood, the Order of the Rose was open to only
those of the "purest" blood, making it the order of royalty within the
Knights of Solamnia.

And so, as the last few benches were set into place, the grassy lands
surrounding the altar slowly began to fill up with footmen, maids and
commoners from Dargaard Keep, as well as the many farmers who tended the
fertile farmlands of Knightlund.

Overhead, there was a slight shift in the clouds, allowing the sun to
peek through the curtain of gray for the first time that morning.

"Please don't worry. Mother. He's a wonderful man," said Korinne
Gladria, as her bridesmaids attended to her long, flowing white gown.

Lady Leyla Gladria looked into her daughter's eyes and smiled. "I have
no doubt that he is, dear Korinne."

"Then why do I have the feeling that you are still uneasy on a day which
is supposed to be one of the happiest of my life?"

Leyla took a breath and exhaled slowly. "I just wish you were marrying
someone more like--" "More like Father," Korinne said. "Oh, Mother."

"Your father might not have been heralded as a valiant and courageous
hero, but he was still a very distinguished politician and diplomat, not
to mention a good husband and father. There was nothing he liked more
than to be at home with his family. Nothing in the world made him more
happy." She shook her head. "Soth is a warrior, perhaps even a great
warrior. But that is his life. He craves adventure, lives for the
battle. When I think of the violence he's been a party to ..."

"All in the name of justice and freedom."

Leyla paused. "My dear, sweet, innocent girl. Men never do evil so
completely and cheerfully as when they do it under the guise of doing
good."

Korinne looked at her mother curiously. "Whose fine words are those?"

"It's a preface to one of the volumes by Vinas Solamnus, volume seven I
believe. It is a warning to those who foolishly believe that all
warriors who fight on the side of good can do no wrong."

"Soth is a good man. And he will be a good father, too." Leyla sighed.
Obviously this was a topic that had been discussed many times before,
each time ending with the same result. "I just want you to be happy,"
she said, giving her daughter a hug.

"I will be. Mother," said Korinne, returning the hug warmly. "I will
be."

  * * * *

"Do you. Lord Loren Soth, take Korinne Gladria, to be your wife, to love
her with a pure heart, and honor her as you would the Oath and the
Measure?" asked Lord Cyril Mordren. The elderly knight was flanked by
two silver and-white robed Priests of Paladine who had conducted the
more mundane aspects of the ceremony before relinquishing duties to Lord
Mordren, the High Clerist of the Knights of Solamnia.

Soth turned to his bride and held his breath lest her beauty take it
away. She was absolutely stunning in her long white gown, which was
highlighted by swirling sky blue accents that followed the contours of
her shapely form like a second skin. Under her veil, her red hair hung
down past her waist in thick, full curls. Her green eyes looked up at
him, large and alluring, possessing both an innocence and an eagerness,
neither of which ever seemed to wane. She smiled at him, and for a
moment Soth felt himself grow weak.

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 of 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.

And today, the Knights of Solamnia celebrated the nearmiraculous feat by
throwing swords, not at a dragon, but at the symbolic red rings painted
into the trunk of a sturdy vallenwood tree.

Satisfied with his weapon, Lord Caladen walked off the twenty paces from
the tree then turned back around to face it. "Ready!" he said, lifting
the sword to his shoulder.

The assembled knights and others in the crowd fell silent.

Lord Caladen took three steps forward and let go of the sword. Its
flight was straight and unwavering, but it was

"

slightly off the mark, clipping the right edge of the tree trunk and
sending a sliver of bark spinning through the air before landing heavily
on the grass behind the tree.

Even though he'd missed, the throw had been a respectable one for such a
senior knight.

"Well done, Caladen!"

"A good effort."

The knights applauded, forcing Lord Caladen to accept their cheers with
a broad smile and prideful wave, gestures that would have been more than
enough acknowledgement even if he had hit the target dead center.
"You're too kind," he said. "A lucky throw, no more."

Just then, Lord Soth came upon the pitch. He'd been circling the keep,
greeting his guests one last time before retiring for the night--his
wedding night.

Seeing Soth approach, Lord Wistan put his hands to his mouth and
shouted, "Perhaps the bridegroom would care to test his mettle?"

The knights turned around and, seeing Soth, beckoned him to try a throw.

"Yes, give a try."

"Come on, Soth!" Soth hesitated, then said, "All right, perhaps just a
single throw."

The words were followed by a rousing cheer.

A footman quickly helped Soth with his cloak, then stood back as the
knight selected a sword. To no one's surprise he lifted one of the
heavier weapons into the air.

Then, after finding its center of balance, he hefted it in his hand to
check its weight.

"Make room!" cried Lord Wistan.

The knights surrounding Lord Soth fanned out, clearing a path toward the
tree. Soth then walked over to the tree, marched off twenty paces, and
turned on his heel.

"Ready," he said.

Lord Wistan nodded.

The crowd of knights and numerous other onlookers that had suddenly
gathered around the tree were never more silent.

Soth took three long strides, then threw the sword.

The blade whistled as it sliced through the air ... And an instant later
it struck the tree with a hard thwok!

Soth looked up, and saw that the sword had hit the exact middle of the
center ring, its haft wavering like the stiffened tail of a hungry cat.

For a moment, all were silent as they looked with awe upon the sword as
it jutted out from the tree like a new branch.

"Huma could have done no better!" someone shouted.

"A sword never flew more true!" yelled another.

The cheers continued to ring out until they combined together in a
single loud wash of exultant voices.

Soth acknowledged the cheers with a slight nod of his head, then raised
his hands to restore quiet once more. "If you'll excuse me, I hate to
keep a lady waiting, especially when that lady is my wife."

The words were followed by good-natured and knowing laughter.

Soth turned and headed for the keep.

At the vallenwood tree, several footmen tried to pull the sword from the
trunk, but with half the length of the blade embedded in the wood, it
would not budge.

Finally, three of them combined their efforts and the heavy broadsword
slowly came free.

Soth came around to the entrance of the keep.

Standing on the drawbridge was Lady Korinne talking to a young knight
draped in a blue cloak. They stood close together, barely inches
apart--a distance which could be considered almost intimate.

Soth moved into the shadows cast by a large oak, and watched.

They talked for a minute, maybe longer, then kissed.

Moments later they parted, Korinne entering the keep, the young knight
mounting his horse and riding away.

Soth waited until the knight was gone, then followed Korinne.

Once inside, he paused to stand at the open window of the master
bedchamber overlooking the grounds outside the entrance to the keep. The
fires that had been lit as the sun began its descent were themselves
dying out, spotting the land with points of flickering orange-yellow
light.

It had been a long day, thought Soth. A good day. The happiest, the
proudest, the best yet in his relatively short life. And now the best
day's night, his wedding night, was about to begin. Would it prove to be
as special as the day had been?

He hoped so.

But before he could enjoy his special night, he had to deal with
something that was troubling him.

Just then, the door to the chamber's dressing room opened. Soth turned
in time to see Lady Korinne step into the room.

Even in the dim light of the candles set about the room, the woman's
beauty was obvious and enchanting. She was dressed in a white nightgown
made of a thin, almost sheer, material which clung to her every curve
and left little to Soth's imagination.

Soth felt desire for his new bride, a desire he'd been suppressing
throughout the day, suddenly erupt within him like sparked tinder. But
despite his wish to rush across the room, he stood stock-still, watching
patiently.

She moved to the middle of the bedchamber, stopped and looked up at him.
"Does what you see please you?"

Soth knew it wasn't the time for such questions, but he couldn't help
himself--he had to know.

"Who was that knight you were speaking to on the drawbridge?"

"A knight?" asked Korinne. "I'm afraid I don't recall."

"A young man dressed in a blue cloak. You kissed him."

"Oh, you mean Trebor Reywas. He's a friend of the family, a Crown knight
from Palanthas. He was departing early and came looking for me in order
to say goodbye." "A friend of the family?" asked Soth.

"Why, Loren Soth," said Lady Korinne, her hands placed firmly on her
hips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're jealous." Soth
sighed. Perhaps he was jealous, but even if he was it was a weakness
he'd never admit to. He answered Korinne by shaking his head. "No, not
jealous. Only envious of the kiss you gave him."

She smiled at him. "That's so sweet," she said, moving to the foot of
the bed. There, she reached up for the string about her neck which held
the gown in place. She untied the knot, moved the gown over her
shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "I'm sorry you've had to wait.
But, am I not worth waiting for?" she asked.

Soth merely nodded.

"Then, please," she said, "love me!"

Soth went to her, took her in his arms ... And loved her.

Chapter 3.

"What constitutes an evil deed?" the Kingpriest said, standing in front
of a large group of his followers in the largest assembly hall within
the Temple of the Kingpriest in Istar. The group was made up of mages,
priests, acolytes and other loyal supporters of the cause, which was the
purging of Evil from the face of Krynn.

Several hands shot up in response to the question.

The Kingpriest nodded in the direction of a young man dressed in
slightly faded green and brown robes. Judging by his clothing, he was
one of the Kingpriest's lesser priests, but nevertheless a devout
follower and crusader for the worldwide promotion of Good over Evil.

"An act which is morally wrong, or bad," said the young priest.

The Kingpriest paced in front of his followers, his hands clasped
together before him as if in prayer, or perhaps just deep in thought.

"Yes, yes, that is part of it. But what else? What constitutes an evil
deed?"

Again, hands rose up before him.

He pointed to a woman dressed in pale yellow and white robes which had
the insignia of the Kingpriest sewn over the left breast. She was a
mage, a renegade mage who used her considerable power to help strengthen
the Kingpriest's domination of Istar and to promote the Kingpriest's
edicts and ideology across the entire continent of Ansalon.

"Anything causing injury or harm. A harmful effect or consequence," she
said with strength of conviction.

"It is that too," said the Kingpriest. "But what is the basis for evil
deeds, the thing that lurks behind them, pushing them forward, turning
them into deeds?"

This time the Kingpriest indicated an older yellow-and-white-robed mage
sitting toward the back of the assembly.

"Depravity, viciousness, corruption, wickedness ..."

The Kingpriest began nodding his head with delight, "Yes, yes, yes ..."
Obviously, he was finally hearing just what he wanted to hear. "Evil
deeds have all of those things at their core." He paused a moment to
reflect. "But what must occur before an evil deed is enacted?"

The followers were unsure about the wording of the question and looked
at each other in confusion.

"Before there can be an evil deed," said the Kingpriest, "there must be
..." He paused to allow his followers the chance to complete the
sentence.

He pointed at various people in the group.

"Evil purpose?"

The Kingpriest shook his head. "Not exactly."

"An evil concept?"

"Yes, but more precisely ..."

"Evil intent?"

"Yes, but ..."

"Evil thoughts?"

The Kingpriest stopped in his tracks, silent. "Yes," he said at last,
seemingly relieved. "Evil thoughts. Before an evil act can even be
committed, it must be preceded by an evil thought." The followers
continued to listen intently, realizing that the Kingpriest was getting
closer to the reason he'd brought them all together.

"The Proclamation of Manifest Virtue was a great step toward the total
defeat of Evil because it declared absolutely that Evil in the world was
an utter affront to both gods and mortals alike. But the creation of the
List of Evil Acts, acts for which the perpetrators faced execution, or
death in the gladiatorial arena, was only a beginning. In the years
since, the Istarian clergy has grown even stronger. Istar has become not
only the center of religion, but also a leading center for art, culture
and commerce.

Today, the clergy oversees almost every aspect of daily Istarian life."
The Kingpriest paused a moment, obviously satisfied by how powerful the
priesthood had become under his rule.

"And then came the Siege on Sorcery, in which the people of Krynn laid
siege to the Towers of High Sorcery, which effectively banished the evil
magic wielders from Istar and allowed the benevolent powers of Good to
flourish in a region of Krynn that was free of the stiflingly wicked
forces of Evil."

The Kingpriest paced back and forth in front of his followers, knowing
that his next words would be absolutely crucial.

"But despite Istar's spectacular rise to power, both at home and across
the face of Krynn, and despite the banishment of Evil and the continuous
fight for the cause of Good that is waged by the people of Istar and the
good Knights of Solamnia, Evil still exists. Anywhere you look you can
find it rearing its hideous head."

The Kingpriest's followers nodded in agreement.

"The time has come for new and drastic measures which will help us in
the noble fight against Evil. That is why I propose to enact the
following Edict of Thought Control."

A low buzz of voices circulated the room.

"Evil thoughts equal evil deeds," said the Kingpriest.

"Anger is a capital offense equal to murder; lust is a capital offense
equal to adultery."

The Kingpriest paused to allow the concept to sink in.

"Under this new Edict of Thought Control, you, my good friends and
followers will be empowered to identify evil thoughts and prevent them
from becoming evil deeds, thereby ensuring that Good will once again
reign supreme in a land where virtuous, righteous and, above all, moral
people wish to live without fear of the forces of Evil and its denizens.

There was silence in the room for a long time.

Finally, a single hand rose up from the crowd. It was a hand belonging
to the elderly mage. "But how will we be able to detect evil thoughts,
let alone control them?"

The Kingpriest smiled. "Ah, a very good question, but one that is simply
answered. You forget that we stand for the cause of Good and with it on
our side, anything is possible."

"Are you saying we shall use magic and spells to carry out this edict,
to read the minds of the citizens of Istar?"

"Some would call it magic. Some others would call it spellcasting,"
answered the Kingpriest. "But those terms are used by wizards and
sorcerers. You, loyal clerics and faithful followers, will be able to
look into the minds of the people of Istar and read their thoughts
through the power of a divine invocation. As a result, you will be able
to go about your task safe and secure in the knowledge that you have
been empowered to do so by the highest possible authority."

The followers looked uneasy, most likely unsure what had been meant by
the "highest possible authority" given that the Kingpriest himself was
the head of the clergy.

"Such magnificent power can not be handed down by those who simply
perform magic. Such strength of conviction does not come from those who
merely practice the incantation of spells."

A pause.

"It comes from, and is, quite simply, the will of the gods."

Chapter 4.

"It was my tree And he had no right to cut it down!" said Vin Dowell, a
tall wiry farmer from Tyrell, a small village to the west of Dargaard
Keep located on the eastern bank of the Vingaard River.

"I didn't cut it down, I only trimmed the branches that were hanging
over my land," said Thorn Tregaard, a short squat man with a
barrel-shaped belly, long white hair and a matching tapered, gray-white
beard.

As the two men blathered on, Soth rolled his eyes and shifted nervously
in his high-backed throne chair, searching for that always elusive
comfortable position in which to sit. It was the morning of Palast, the
one day each week he set aside for the settling of land claims and
similar disputes among the people of Knightlund. Sometimes the disputes
were of interest to Soth, such as the ones involving some type of crime,
the honor of a woman, or a chivalric sort of challenge between two
parties.

But this, this was a squabble between two ducking hens.

"Which you had absolutely no right to do," said Dowell.

"A man's tree is a man's tree. The next thing you'll be doing is cutting
down my fence because you don't like the shadow it casts upon your
land."

"I'd never damage a fence. And certainly not one that serves well as a
border between myself and the likes of you!"

Soth leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

"Not to worry, you wouldn't catch me on that weed infested patch of soil
you dare to call a farm." Dowell crossed his arms and turned up his nose
in disgust.

"Oh, so my side of the fence is good enough for your tree, but not good
enough for you, eh?" Tregaard's face was turning a deep shade of red and
his breath was growing deeper and more rapid.

The two men moved closer, rolling up their sleeves in preparation for a
fight.

Soth had seen and heard just about as much as he could stand. Although
he was mildly interested in seeing which of the two men would emerge the
victor of a fist-fight-- Dowell having the longer reach, Tregaard
possessing a decided weight advantage--he couldn't, in good conscience,
allow matters to get out of hand.

"Enough!" he cried, his booming voice shocking the two farmers into
silence. When he had their attention, Soth sat up straight in his chair
and looked the taller of the two farmers straight in the eye. "Now, Vin
Dowell, were some of your tree's branches hanging over onto Tregaard's
land?"

The farmer maintained eye contact with Soth for several seconds, then
looked away. "Yes, milord." The words were whispered, a mere shadow of
the voice he'd used seconds before on his fellow farmer.

"And you. Thorn Tregaard, cut down the tree or just the branches?"

Tregaard was quick to answer. "Just the branches, milord."

"And what of the fruit on those branches?"

"They're in his cold storage room--" barked Dowell.

Soth held up his hand to silence the man.

"Well?" Soth prodded Tregaard.

"As he said, they are in my cold storage." "I see," said Soth, pausing a
moment to consider the situation.

The trick to finding a solution acceptable to both parties was to give
them the illusion that each of them was coming away the winner. But, how
to do that?

"Since the branches were overhanging on Tregaard's land, he was well
within his rights to cut the offending branches from the tree."

Tregaard's face was suddenly brightened by a big selfsatisfied grin.

"However," continued Soth. "Because the tree was Dowelts, the branches
should be returned to him lest he should want to use them as firewood,
and the fruit that was borne by those branches are his property and
should be in his cold storage room by the end of the week. By Bakukal to
be precise."

It was Dowell's turn to beam.

"Now, shake hands like gentlemen, and return to Tyrell as good
neighbors." "Yes milord," said Dowell.

"Thank you, milord," said Tregaard.

Both men sounded grateful, but nevertheless defeated.

"Very well, then," said Soth. "This matter is closed."

As spectators and other interested parties began to file out of the
throne room, Soth breathed a sigh of relief. His role as Knightlund's
chief justice was done for yet another week and the next dreaded Palast
morning court was a blessed seven full days away.

Soth had thought he would have enjoyed some of the more mundane aspects
of ruling Knightlund, but just two short months after his wedding and
ascension to the Order of the Rose, he had come to realize that that
simply was not the case. He yearned to draw his sword in battle, to feel
its honed edge cutting into the flesh and cracking the bones of his
enemies. It was what he had been trained to do. But, here he was a
Knight of Solamnia, a Knight of the Rose, performing the duties of a
common clerk.

For a brief moment he admired his father's ability to oversee Knightlund
so capably, and so happily, for so many years.

He rose from his throne, wondering what unremarkable task would require
his attention that afternoon when suddenly-- "Milord, milord!" The voice
was that of the squire stationed as a lookout on the top level of the
keep.

Soth remained standing, waiting almost impatiently for the squire to
appear. At last he ran into the room, out of breath and obviously
excited.

"A rider," he said, taking a breath. "A lone rider approaches from the
south, at full gallop."

Soth felt the hair on his arms bristle with anticipation.

Clearly the rider was on a mission of great urgency.

"Is he flying any colors?"

"Red."

"Prepare to lower the bridge!" he bellowed, his words echoing throughout
the keep. Soth followed the squire out of the room and made his way
outside, where the rider was bringing his horse to a stop in the center
of the entrance area just inside the keep's gatehouse. A small crowd of
knights, squires and others had gathered about, all curious to learn
what was afoot. The rider had entered slowly, his horse appearing to be
on the brink of exhaustion.

Even now that his ride had come to an end, the rider seemed no better
off and looked rather ragged and sore after what was obviously a long,
hard ride. He was helped from his mount slowly, his movements suggesting
each movement of his arms or legs was painful to make.

When he finally had both feet on the ground, footmen took hold of his
shoulders and helped him over to where Lord Soth waited.

After letting himself down onto one knee, the rider looked up at the
lord of the keep and grimaced to fight off a fresh stab of pain.
"Ogres," he managed to say, still slightly out of breath.

Soth stepped closer to the rider, noticing for the first time that there
were bruises on one side of his face and down along his neck to the
shoulder, wounds likely made by an ogre's vine bola or duster ball.
"Where?"

The rider had managed to catch some of his breath and was now composed
enough to manage something resembling coherent speech. "I've come from
the village of Halton. The ogres have moved north upon us from Throtyl,
commandeering our stores and laying siege to the village. Several
villagers have been killed, some others have been wounded. I only
managed to get away by acting as if my wounds were fatal, then stealing
a horse at nightfall."

Soth nodded. Halton was a small but vital agricultural center south of
Dargaard Keep on the western foot of the Dargaard Mountains. It served
as the initial trade center for much of the annual fall harvests in the
region and was often called "Harvest Home" by people all across the
plains and throughout southern Solamnia.

Throtyl, on the other hand, was a pocket of lawlessness in the southern
tip of the Dargaard Mountains. It was situated in a small forest which
opened upon a broad marshy plain called Throttle. To the east of the
plain lay a passageway through the Dargaard Mountains called the Throtyl
Gap. The gap was a place infested with marauding bands of outlaws,
barbarians and ogres who made their living smuggling goods through the
gap, charging heavy tolls for safe passage, or simply by preying upon
unsuspecting travelers. For years Soth had been satisfied to look the
other way because the ogres were relatively few in numbers and generally
kept to themselves, and because most travelers of Ansalon knew to keep
well clear of the gap. Finally, he tolerated them because they were so
well entrenched in the forest that any expedition he might mount would
likely cost the lives of too many knights and gain far too little in
return to make it worth the effort.

This however, was another matter entirely. People of Knightlund had been
killed and wounded. His people.

And still, many others remained in danger and would be without food
through the winter if nothing were done to vanquish the ogres.

"You've done well," Soth told the rider. "Get some food in you, and a
change of dean clothing. Then we'll meet in the Knights' Chambers to
discuss our battle plans."

He turned to address the rest of those present, perhaps even the entire
keep. "Begin preparations," he barked, sending squires and footmen
scurrying. "We shall be leaving as soon as possible."

Soth placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. It felt good in his hand,
and it would feel even better being swung against an opponent in battle.

Whenever they might be leaving the keep, it wouldn't be soon enough.

* * * *

Soth found Lady Korinne alone in their bedchamber.

She was sitting by the window reading one of the thirtyseven volumes
written by Vinas Solamnus which outlined the Measure of the Knights of
Solamnia. She had begun reading the volumes that were housed in the
keep's library shortly after their wedding and had dedicated most of her
waking hours to reading every word in every volume so that she might
better understand the laws of conduct to which her husband was bound.

Curious about his wife's progress, Soth checked the number of the
volume--twenty-six. Soon she would be as familiar with the Measure as
any knight, perhaps even more so. It was a generous gesture, one which
endeared his wife to Soth--if it were in fact possible for him to love
her any more than he already did.

"There is trouble to the south," said Soth, kneeling by his wife's side
and placing his hands in hers.

"I've heard as much."

"It pains me to leave you here, but the people of Halton need me.
Several have died, and more will certainly perish if we don't make
haste."

Lady Korinne smiled lovingly and shook her head.

"Dear Loren, how sweet that you feel you must tell me lies to protect my
feelings."

Soth was somewhat taken aback by his wife's assertion.

"I am certainly not telling you lies."

"Oh yes you are," she said, her voice still soft and loving.

"You said you can't bear to leave the keep, but I know there's nothing
your heart yearns for more than to be traveling Solamnia with your
knights at your side, battling Evil."

Soth returned her smile. "You know me too well, then."

"Oh, I doubt that," she said. "I just know that for you, or any Knight
of Solamnia, there is no choice between the drudgery of keep life and an
all-out battle against Evil."

Soth smiled, "In that you are correct," he said, realizing his wife
dearly understood what was needed most from the wife of a Knight of
Solamnia--understanding.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "But please, promise me one thing."

"Of course, anything."

"When you leave the keep, think not of me, but solely of the task ahead
of you. I don't want your battle instincts dulled by any sentimental
thoughts of me."

"You are as unselfish as you are beautiful, my love."

"Perhaps, but I can think of no other way to ensure that you will return
to me quickly and unharmed."

Soth nodded. "As you wish." He leaned forward, took her in his arms and
kissed her deeply.

  * * *

"It was hard to know exactly how many ogres there were in total since
they were so spread out over the entire village," said the rider from
Halton as he sketched a rough map of his home village on a sheet of pale
leather laid over a table in the knights' chambers.

"If you had to guess?" asked Caradoc, standing to the left of the rider.

The rider was silent, deep in thought. "I really can't say." The rider
shook his head, apparently frustrated.

"We're a village of peaceful farmers. We've relied so much on the
protection of the Knights of Solamnia that few of us even have weapons
with which to defend ourselves."

"A guess?" Caradoc prodded, a little forcefully.

The rider shook his head. "Perhaps there were no more than ten or
fifteen of them."

A ripple of nervous laughter coursed through the knights who stood
around the table. That many ogres wouldn't be too hard to handle,
especially for such a seasoned warrior as Lord Soth and his company of
thirteen loyal knights. No, the problem with liberating the village
wasn't so much with the ogres who had besieged it, as with the villagers
and trying to keep them out of harm's way during the battle to free
them.

"Do you know where most of the ogres are located within the village?"
asked Soth, standing to the rider's right and carefully looking over the
sketch of the village.

"I can't be sure," said the rider. "But perhaps I could sneak back into
the village when we get there and find out."

"Yes, that would help. The more we know about the village and the ogres
the better it will be for us," said Soth.

"But, we can do nothing until we arrive in Halton." He began rolling up
the length of leather. "We leave within the hour."

****<

Soth adjusted his breastplate so that it rested comfortably across his
chest. The breastplate, bearing the symbol of the rose, was still
unmarred by battle. It gleamed brightly against the light shining
through the open entrance to the keep and did justice to the pride Soth
felt in wearing it. When the plate was set into position, he checked the
armor plates over his shoulders, and on his thighs and shins, making
sure they were all properly placed and secured.

Like most of the knights on this expedition, Soth had opted for
medium-weight armor with steel plates covering the vital areas like the
head and chest, while the extremities were left to the protection of
chain mail. The combination of the two types of armor would allow him
more freedom of movement, which was vitally important when fighting the
much stronger, but slower-moving ogres.

Satisfied with his armor, Soth held out his hand for his sword. The two
footmen who had been busy sharpening its blade carried it toward him
wrapped in a heavy cloth.

They presented it to him hilt first. Although the sword was designed for
two-handed use, Soth was a big man, easily strong enough to wield the
weapon with only his right hand.

The footmen remained where they stood, waiting for Soth's appraisal of
the weapon and his verdict on its suitability.

Soth cut a swath through the air with the sword to check its balance,
then raised it up to take a closer look at the cutting edges of the
blade. That the footmen had spent all of their time since the arrival of
the rider honing the weapon was obvious. Both its edges were as sharp as
knives and the tip of its point was needle-thin. He looked at the
footmen and nodded appreciatively.

The two footmen smiled at each other proudly, then the taller one said,
"Slay one of them foul beasts for us, milord."

"Consider it done," said Soth, placing the sword neatly into its heavy
leather sheath.

Next, he took hold of his helm. It was made of bare silver-gray metal
with only certain parts of it adorned with decorative roses. The visor
was up and the horse's tail that sprouted out from the top center of the
helm was as long and black as Soth's own flowing mane. Like the rest of
his armor, the helm was of medium weight. Some of the knights had opted
for their heaviest helms, but Soth had decided that not even the
strongest helm could protect him against a direct blow from an ogre's
club or long sword. To Soth, it was far better to die bravely in battle
than to be seriously injured and unable to continue his life as a
knight.

He balanced the helm between his hands and prepared to place it over his
head when he heard a voice calling him.

"Milord! Milord!" It was a woman's voice. He turned around and saw Lady
Korinne approaching. While she usually called him Loren, they had
decided on using the more formal address in the presence of others.

"Milady," said Soth, nodding his head graciously.

"I wanted to give you one last kiss before you go."

Soth bent forward and the two kissed deeply.

"And to tell you this ..."

Soth's eyebrows arched expectantly.

"Fight for the cause of Good, and when you're done, hurry home.
Hopefully upon your return I will be able to reward you with the news
that I am with child."

Soth's mouth fell open and remained that way for a moment. While he was
glad to hear the words, he was somewhat confused by them. A short time
ago she'd played the part of a knight's wife to perfection, instructing
him not to think of her while on the journey. But now she was speaking
more like a young bride, teasing him with words of a child in order to
ensure that his thoughts were never far from home--no matter where he
might be.

A child, he thought, perhaps even a son. Soth's heart raced at the
possibility. "That would make my return to Dargaard Keep a truly
triumphant one," he said.

He moved to kiss her again, but she stepped away from him and shook her
head, once again playing the role of the steadfast lady of the keep.
"Go," she said. "Your people need you."

Soth looked at his wife a moment, his heart full of love and pride, then
gently slipped his helm over his head. He turned and mounted his horse,
a huge animal, char-black from head to hoof, which despite Soth's size
and weight, did not seem to be burdened by its new load.

He took one final look around, saw that his knights were ready, and drew
his sword. Then he raised it over his head and shouted, "Est Sularus oth
Mithas."

A cheer rose up.

Soth's mount surged forward.

And the knights followed him out of the keep.

Chapter 5

After the exhilarating charge out of the keep, the thirteen Solamnic
Knights loyal to Lord Soth settled down to a somewhat more relaxed pace
which would allow them to travel the maximum amount of distance in what
was left of the day.

After night had fallen, they continued on in the darkness for several
hours and would have ridden through the night had Soth asked it of them.
But of course, he would never think to do such a thing. For although it
was imperative they get to Halton as quickly as possible, Soth refused
to compromise his knights' fighting ability by bringing them to the
point of exhaustion before they'd even arrived at the battle. When they
passed the halfway point between Dargaard Keep and Halton, the decision
to stop for the night was made easy for Soth when the passage through
that part of the mountains proved too treacherous to complete under the
cover of darkness.

He stopped the procession and the knights dutifully, if not gratefully,
dismounted and stretched their limbs. Soon after, Caradoc had arranged a
watch rotation and the knights set about eating what little provisions
they had taken with them. In a day or so the squires would catch up to
the group and there would be plenty of time to feast, but for now they
had to travel as lightly and as quickly as possible.

A chill wind blew down from the mountains, but fires were obviously out
of the question. And so, they ate cold food in the dark, and after
they'd staved off their pangs of hunger, at least temporarily, the
knights silently made themselves comfortable wherever they could.

Finally, they closed their eyes for a few hours' rest ... And dreamed of
the battle ahead.

* * * * *

Soth looked up and saw the rocks tumbling down the mountainside. He
ducked beneath an overhang and watched the stones and boulders roll
past, then crash heavily into the soft valley floor below.

He waited another few seconds, listening to the flap of the dragon's
wings as it flew over the mountain's peak and prepared for yet another
pass.

"Father!"

It was a thin, weak voice, yet somehow familiar.

Another moment passed and he realized it was the voice of his son.

He was still alive.

Soth ran out from under the overhang and quickly looked left and right.

"Father!" came the call again.

He ran to the left, over the loose rocks that had been dislodged by the
dragon's pass. After cresting a slight rise, he saw his son standing in
the middle of a clearing. He was looking around, his steps tentative and
cautious.

He was a young and handsome man, with all the size and strength of his
father. He was dressed in shining plate armor, dented and scratched in
spots in evidence of the fierceness of battles past. He held his sword
stiffly before him like a pathfinder, lighting his way in the dark.

Soth ran toward his son, but stopped when he noticed the boy's eyes.
They were two large white spheres absolutely without color. The young
man was blind, wandering aimlessly over the mountainside, in search of
... "Father, are you there?"

"Yes!" cried Soth, moving toward the boy.

But the dragon was back, plunging down toward them, so close now that
Soth could feel the rush of hot wind against his body as it approached.

He drew his sword to face the beast. It was a red dragon, its head and
snout crowned by great spiny horns and its body covered with large red
diamond-shaped scales.

Such a powerful and evil enemy, even Soth felt a shiver of fear run
through him.

"Father, help me!"

The dragon swooped closely overhead, then rose up in a slow, wide arc in
preparation for another pass.

Soth turned toward his son, but a rock rolled in front of him and he was
forced to jump back ... Directly into the path of another, larger rock.
The great stone slammed into him, knocking him down and pinning him to
the ground. Desperately he tried to move, but both his legs had been
crushed, and the rock--more like a boulder--was far too heavy to move.

"Father? Are you there?"

Soth tried to speak, but the words would not come to his parched throat.

The red dragon had circled back once more, this time coming in to land
on the side of the mountain no more than fifty paces from the boy.

"Is that you?" The younger Soth turned his head toward the dragon,
listening to the sounds of movement around him.

The dragon moved closer, a wide villainous smile forming on its hideous
snout. It began to inhale, gathering its breath. Then, slowly it opened
its mouth wide.

Soth felt the blood drain from his face. His heart fell into the pit of
his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream, but could not make a sound.

The red dragon exhaled a cone of white-hot flames.

"Father, please ..."

The boy's sword and shield began to melt in the wash of fire.

"Help me!"

And a moment later the young Soth was also aflame, his armor and body
being incinerated by the intense heat of the dragon's fiery breath.

"No!" Soth cried, this time managing to say the word.

The dragon closed its mouth and turned to face him.

Thin white tendrils of smoke wafted up from its nostrils and the corners
of its mouth as it took several steps in his direction.

Soth began to thrash from side to side, pulling at his ruined legs,
trying to get them free.

The dragon inhaled again, then opened its mouth and ... "Milord!"
whispered Caradoc.

Soth's eyes fluttered open. "What?" he gasped. "What is it?"

"Are you all right? It sounded as if you might be in pain."

Soth fought to catch his breath. He looked around. It was still dark
out. Slowly, he remembered where he was, and realized he'd been having a
dream.

A bad dream.

A nightmare.

"No, I'm ... I'm fine," he said. He looked down at his legs, and saw
that his feet had become entangled in his cloak. He kicked the cloak
away. "Is it my turn to keep watch?" he asked hopefully. Anything to
keep him from returning to the nightmare of the dream.

"No, milord," said Caradoc. "It is time to go. Your turn to keep watch
came and went some time ago. You were sleeping so soundly we decided it
was best not to wake you." Soth said nothing to this. He could reprimand
his knights for not waking him, but he knew the fault lay within
himself. After all, the squire's first rule was that knights who slept
too deeply did not live very long. It wasn't like him to forget
something like that, but he had.

Perhaps it was best not to dwell on it. In fact, the less he reminded
himself about his ghastly nightmare the better.

"Very well," he said at last. "But, don't let it happen again."

"Yes, milord."

Soth rose up off the ground, stiff and sore, his clothes cold and damp
with sweat.

  * * *

The knights were well on their way as the sun broke over the tops of the
Dargaard Mountains. After a cold night and its legacy of stiff joints
and sore bones, the sun's warmth was a more than welcome relief for the
knights.

Soth took his customary position at the head of the group during the
early hours, but as they neared Halton, he allowed the rider who'd come
from the village to take the lead position given that he was more
familiar with the surrounding terrain.

When the village at last came into sight, Soth moved the knights
slightly up the mountain slopes in order to avoid detection as the ogres
would no doubt have one or two guards watching the surrounding lands and
especially the approach from Dargaard Keep.

As they made their way through a shallow gully, one of the knights let
out a birdlike cry. Soth immediately halted the knights with an upraised
fist. The procession stopped and went silent as Soth waited for the
knight who'd called out the warning to offer a report.

The knight turned out to be Colm Farold, Knight of the Sword. "Voices,
milord," he said. "Coming from over there." He pointed with a subtle
gesture at a thick patch of fireweed growing close to the ground some
yards off.

Soth nodded, and listened closely. Indeed there were faint sounds coming
from somewhere to his left. He gestured to Farold with his head, then
pointed to two other knights. The selected knights immediately
dismounted.

"Nothing here, men," said Soth, moving forward through the gully,
leaving the three knights behind. "I think it's best we be moving on."

Once they were through the gully, Soth doubled his men back around in a
wide arc and minutes later they were once again traversing the gully.

Except this time, Farold and the other knights were there waiting for
them, swords drawn and two prisoners in hand.

"Hender and Pike!" exclaimed the rider.

"You know these two?" asked Soth.

"Indeed, milord. One is my cousin, the other his neighbor."

Soth looked at the men flanked by the trio of knights and recognized
them from their manner of dress as being simple farmers.

"We found them cowering in the bushes almost with their heads buried in
the ground," Farold explained.

"We were afraid you might be more ogres," said the older of the two, the
one the rider had identified as Hender. He was a man with thin gray
hair, a long white beard, and the red neck and thickly calloused hands
of one who tills the land.

If the man hadn't been so terrified, Soth might have considered his
words an insult. And if their task wasn't so urgent, he might have taken
the time to make a comment about them. Instead, he decided to
concentrate on the matter at hand. "How long ago did you escape from the
village?" "This morning," said the other farmer, a somewhat younger man
who was obviously the one named Pike.

"Before sunup."

Soth wasn't surprised by this. It was just like ogres to take over a
village, then get careless about keeping it while they indulged on food,
ale and wine in celebration.

Fortunately for Soth and the people of Halton, it simply meant that the
ogres' celebration would be short-lived.

"Did you get a chance to learn where the ogres are located?" asked Soth.

"Most of them, milord," said Pike.

"I saw some too," offered Hender.

"Excellent," said Soth. Then in a slightly louder voice.

"We'll break for a short rest here. When we mount again, we'll be riding
into battle."

He dismounted and began studying the map the rider had drawn back at
Dargaard Keep. In comparing it to what was known about the ogres by
Hender and Pike, it became clear that, despite what the rider had said
about them at Dargaard Keep, these ogres preferred to stick close
together.

According to Hender, most of the ogres had gathered in the middle of the
village around the open meeting place called Center Square. From there,
four pathways led out in four basic directions: north, south, west and
east. The pathway leading into the village from the north was the
largest of the four and could easily be considered a road.

It was the village's main connection to Dargaard Keep to the north and
the path most often traveled by villagers.

The path heading west was also fairly wide and well maintained. This was
the path that hooked up with the trail that led to Vingaard Keep,
another stronghold of the Knights of Solamnia. The path south was thin
and seldom used, stopping at the edge of Halton Wood, a thick, dark
forest that had, up until now, served as a buffer zone between the
farmers and the ogres living in Throtyl to the south. The path leading
east was also a short one, leading to a single farmhouse and a trail
that led up the side of one of the Dargaard range's more majestic peaks.

It was this path that the knights decided on utilizing. It was likely
that the ogres had posted guards on the main north-south road, so they
would gain some measure of surprise by coming at them out of the
mountains from the east. It was also a safer plan for the villagers
given that most of them were being held up in the two large homes on the
west side of the main road. If the knights were successful, they'd be
able to overpower the ogres long before they had a chance to harm any of
their prisoners.

So, armed with a rough battle plan, they set out around midday, riding
halfway up the slopes of the Dargaard Mountains in the hopes of
remaining unseen by any scouts or guards the ogres might have stationed
around the perimeter of the village. As they got closer to Halton,
however, it became more and more apparent that the ogres didn't perceive
there to be much of a threat from outside forces. There were no guards,
no sentries, nobody on the rooftops overlooking the countryside.

Nevertheless, Soth kept the knights hidden on the mountainside in order
to assure they retained the element of surprise.

"Is this the path?" Soth said in a whisper, even though such precautions
were proving to be less and less necessary.

"Yes, milord," said Pike. "It curves a little to the right before
joining up with the others in the center of town.

There is a farm house on the right of it halfway between here and the
center of town. On the left there's a small creek that feeds into a
large pond which is where the farmers get most of their water during the
dry summer seasons."

"You will take your men across the field there," said Soth, pointing to
the open field below. The grain was nearing harvest and stood as tall as
a man, if not taller. "Leave your mounts behind and secure the trade
post and mercantile before joining me in the center of town."

Farold nodded and dismounted. The three knights under his command also
dismounted, leaving their horses to the villagers. In a minute the
knights were out of sight, heading toward the village.

"Caradoc!"

"Milord." "You will continued skirting the mountains and come at the
village from the south. I don't expect you'll come up against much
resistance, but you might run into several ogres on the run."

Caradoc grinned at the thought. "Yes, milord." "Take Knight Kern with
you," said Soth. "Be careful through the mountains, but move quickly."

Caradoc nodded.

Kern followed, nodding to Soth as he passed.

That left Soth and six other knights, including Sword knights Darin
Valcic and Zander Vingus, for what would basically be a full-frontal
attack.

Soth took a deep breath. After all these years as a knight and the
countless battles and adventures he'd been a part of, he still felt the
same excitement beginning to build within him. It was a nervous sort of
tension, an almost euphoric sensation that would continue to build until
it all but disappeared upon the onset of battle. Then, his knightly
instincts and years of training would take control and he would fight
like a man possessed, not stopping until the last of his foes had been
vanquished.

But that would all come later. For now, he savored the sweet feeling of
anticipation, struggling with himself to keep it in check lest it
overtake him too early. He still had a responsibility to his men to lead
them safely into battle, for if one of them should die during the fight,
a little piece of him would die along with that knight.

He drew his sword, held it at the ready and gave his mount a gentle
squeeze with his legs. The horse began moving forward.

The rest of the knights followed.

Soon after they set out, the path curved to the right as it followed the
bend of the river feeding into the pond.

There was a small farmhouse on the right of the road. Soth sent two
knights to inspect it, but it proved to be empty of either villagers or
ogres.

They continued on, Soth in front and three knights to either side of him
in a loose V shape. As the path straightened out, they were able to see
Center Square. Apparently, Paladine was smiling favorably on their
expedition because they'd arrived just as the ogres were packing up
their booty and preparing for the trip back to Throtyl. As the knights
watched, several of them were casually inspecting their loads unaware of
their impending demise.

Soth gauged the distance between his men and the ogres. He was close
enough that any thoughts in the ogres' minds about running for cover
would be out of the question.

The knights would easily be upon them before they reached safety.

No, Soth's attack plan had left them only one option, stand and fight.

Soth raised his sword high above him and kicked at his mount. The horse
surged forward and in seconds the air was full of the sounds of charging
hoofs.

The first ogre to see Soth stared at the knight for a moment as if he
were looking at death itself. He moved left, then right, then finally
picked up his nearby club and took up an improvised battle stance, ready
to fight.

Soth continued to charge, leaning right and swinging his sword, the
length of which outdistanced the ogre's club by half. The leading edge
of the blade cut through the ogre's midsection, spattering Soth and his
horse with blood. The ogre stood upright a moment, then doubled over
before dropping heavily to the ground.

Quickly, the rest of the ogres became aware of the oncoming knights.
Some decided to flee, heading north or south in search of cover. The
last knights on either side broke off from the main assault to take care
of these, cutting them down as they ran. After that, the knights swung
around to rejoin the main group, leaving any further runners for the
knights positioned to the north and south of the village.

Soth's charge had brought him through Center Square. He stopped his
horse and dismounted, preferring to fight the rest of the battle on
foot. The other knights had also dismounted and were now involved in
close fighting, each knight battling one or more of the ogres who had
remained to fight.

Soth approached the fray, eager to even the odds.

  * * *

"It's not fair," said Farold.

The Knight of the Sword had led his party through the fields unnoticed
and now looked across the main road at the two buildings serving as a
makeshift prison for the villagers.

"What's not fair?" asked Kris Krejigaard, a Knight of the Crown who had
just returned from inspecting the mercantile and trade center, both of
which proved to have been cleared out by the ogres.

"The stupid brutes have posted a single guard outside the prison and
that one's asleep on the job."

"Perhaps their victory celebrations went long into the night?" offered
Krejigaard.

"Indeed, they must have."

"But you can't kill him as he sleeps." "No, of course not," said Farold.
It was forbidden by the Measure to kill an opponent whilst unawares.
"But I doubt he'll put up much of a fight after I wake him."

"No," said Krejigaard. "in his condition, I suppose not."

Farold rose up, walked boldly across the street and kicked at the feet
of the sleeping ogre.

"Huh? What?" the beast sputtered.

"Surrender, or die at my blade," said Farold.

The ogre threw a handful of dirt into Farold's face, reached for his
nearby spike-end club and leaped up from the ground.

Farold was blinded for a moment, cursing as he wiped his eyes. Luckily
he was able to recover from the dirty tactic in time to meet the ogre's
challenge.

While Farold and the ogre fought, Krejigaard went to the two buildings
on the west side of the road and released the imprisoned villagers. Then
he escorted them to the mercantile where the two other knights in
Farold's command waited with the small amounts of food, water and other
supplies they had carried in their packs.

When Krejigaard rejoined Farold, the Sword knight was standing over his
fallen enemy looking none the worse for the battle.

"That didn't take long," said Krejigaard.

"I suspect his abilities were muddled by sleep," said Farold, his voice
edged with a hint of regret. "That or by last night's ale."

"Perhaps he would have been wise to remember the squire's first rule."
"So it would seem," said Farold, his eyes already scanning the village
before him.

Off in the distance, sounds of a much larger battle could be heard.

Without another word between them, the two knights headed south.

* * * *

Soth searched the square for an opponent. He found one in the largest of
the ogres who was looking behind a grain cart for an unsuspecting
knight.

"I'm over here, you ugly brute," said Soth, putting a boot to the ogre's
backside and pushing him headfirst into the dirt.

The ogre tumbled and grunted, then looked up at Soth.

"Didn't know Knights of Solamnia fought like common tavern wenches."
Soth was amused by the remark and grateful his opponent had a sense of
humor. "Only when fighting old maids."

The ogre stood up, and for the first time Soth realized the beast was a
full head taller than himself.

They began trading blows and for a while it was all Soth could do to
keep up with the ogre. He'd been able to cut his foe here and there, but
the opportunity for a death blow had so far eluded him.

The ogre blocked an overhanded swing of Soth's sword, then countered
with a punch to Soth's ribs. His armor softened much of the blow, but it
still hurt him.

And that's when the ogre made his one fatal mistake.

He became a little overconfident.

"You're not a bad fighter for a human. There must be some ogre blood in
you, probably on your mother's side."

The remark enraged Soth, blinding him with fury. The Soth family was a
noble one, certainly free of the vile taint of something as disgusting
as ogre blood.

With a roar, Soth was upon the beast, his broadsword moving surely and
swiftly, making it seem as if there were two or more swords fighting on
his behalf.

The ogre fought off Soth's advances, but eventually began to tire. Soth
was able to strike him at will, and took great delight in killing him
slowly--wounding him on the shoulder, then the leg, stabbing him in the
chest, then the stomach.

The ogre fell heavily to the ground, bleeding but still very much alive.

But Soth showed no mercy, continuing to hack at the body, lopping off
limbs and cutting deeply into the flesh, again and again until the once
formidable beast was little more than a grotesque lump of gore.

"Milord," said a voice of one of the knights.

Soth didn't hear it.

"Milord!" the knight called again.

Soth continued to stab and chop at the dead ogre.

Finally the knight, Darin Valcic, grabbed at Soth's arm.

"He's dead, milord."

Soth stopped at last, his sword poised over his right shoulder and his
breath coming hard and fast.

"There are still others ... alive," said Valcic.

"Then let us find them," said Soth, his eyes alight with a dangerously
bright glint of rage.

 <* *

Caradoc stepped quietly through the bush. He'd heard sounds of movement
in the distance and was slowly making his way toward their source.

After a few steps he stopped again and listened. It sounded as if
someone was breathing hard. Most likely it was an ogre fleeing the
battle that was now raging in the center of the village.

Caradoc continued his approach, being careful not to alert the ogre to
his presence. Behind him, he could hear the faint footsteps of Wersten
Kern as he came to join him.

Caradoc turned, faced the knight and gestured that he should circle
around the back of their enemy.

Kern nodded and headed off through the bush.

When the younger knight was out of earshot, Caradoc continued his hunt
of the lone ogre. He'd traveled several more yards and stopped. The
sound of the ogre's breathing was heavy and loud. In fact he was so
close now that he could almost smell the beast's foul breath.

Caradoc pulled back a branch ... And there was the ogre, his back to
Caradoc, no doubt watching the village to see if he were being pursued.
The ogre was a large one, a full head taller than Caradoc and with long,
wild hair that covered his shoulders and most of his back like a horse's
mane. The beast's arms were as thick as Caradoc's thighs and his legs
easily reminded one of tree trunks.

Caradoc took a breath and readied his sword. Then he slipped through the
few remaining trees and prepared himself for a fight.

And at that moment the ogre turned.

From the look on his face, he was obviously surprised, but no longer
inclined to flee. The ogre drew his huge sword and held it before him as
he lunged toward Caradoc.

The knight was able to deflect the initial thrust with his shield, but
the force of the blow caused a sharp stab of pain to shoot up the length
of his arm. Still, Caradoc managed to strike a retaliatory blow against
the ogre's naked thigh. It was a glancing blow, but still strong enough
to slow the beast down.

After trading several ineffective blows, the two combatants squared off
once more, this time as if ready to begin the fight anew.

"Caradoc!" It was the voice of Wersten Kern coming from somewhere deep
in the bush.

The ogre turned to face this new threat approaching from behind, and
when he did, Caradoc raised his sword and struck the beast in the back
of the head.

Dead.

Seconds later, Kern appeared through the bush. When he looked at the
ogre lying prone on the forest floor, his eyes opened wide in awe. "Look
at the size of him!" "He put up a valiant fight," said Caradoc, standing
over the fallen ogre with one foot resting on its chest. "But in the end
he proved to be no match for my blade."

Kern looked upon his fellow knight with an admiring eye, obviously not
having seen the underhanded way in which Caradoc had felled the beast.
"Well done. Knight Caradoc," cheered Kern.

"Thank you. Knight Kern," Caradoc said, bowing slightly.

There was a moment of silence between them.

"Well, enough of this," said Kern. "This fight is over, but there is
still a battle to be won."

"Lead the way," said Caradoc.

    *   *

The battle in Center Square was brief.

Several of the ogres had fallen during the initial attack, reducing
their force to a more manageable number. Then as the battle continued
and more ogres fell, the will to fight in the ones that remained seemed
to weaken, opening the way for a virtual rout over the loosely knit army
of marauding beasts.

And now, bloody ogres littered the square.

Those who had fled the battle had been taken care of by Farold to the
north and Caradoc to the south. It was possible that one or more of the
ogres had managed to escape the slaughter and would eventually make it
back to Throtyl, but Soth wasn't too concerned about that. If an ogre
were to reach Throtyl it would mean he would be able to tell the rest of
them what had happened to their party, thereby providing an effective
warning to those who might try a similar attack on villages within the
realm of Knightlund.

There was also a chance that the ogres would attempt to mount reprisal
attacks, but their numbers would be no match for an extended war with
the combined forces of all the Knights of Solamnia. This had been little
more than an isolated skirmish, and now it was over.

Soth wiped his blade clean on a dead ogre's loincloth, then sheathed the
sword and looked around to inspect the damage. Except for what the ogres
had consumed while they had been in control of the village, most of
their booty--the village's store--was recovered intact. A few villagers
would be inconvenienced by having to cart their valuables back to their
homes, and others would need time to get over the shock of the ogres'
attack, but all in all, everything had gone as well as, or perhaps even
better, than Soth could have hoped.

Best of all, not one of his knights had suffered a serious injury. Of
course, a few of them had suffered cuts and gashes, and others had been
bruised by the ogres, but their pains were nothing a tankard or two of
ale wouldn't cure.

Soth detected some movement to his left. He turned and saw Farold
approaching the Square from the north. "All clear, milord," he said.

"And the villagers?"

"Safe."

Soth nodded and looked to the south. Caradoc was there with Kern. Soth
raised his head, as if asking a question of his seneschal.

"No more ogres in the forest, milord," said Caradoc. "If there are,
they're halfway to Throtyl by now."

Soth nodded. His chest swelled with pride at the way his knights had
handled themselves, but he was also rightly proud of himself for
planning a battle strategy that ensured all of his knights would be able
to fight again another day. As their leader, this had been one of Soth's
prime concerns.

"Well done. Knights of Solamnia," he said loudly.

"Well done, milord!" the knights cheered in unison.

It was a good day to be a Knight of Solamnia.

When they ventured out into their village and found their streets rid of
the dreaded ogres, the grateful villagers of Halton insisted that the
knights remain in the town for a celebratory feast.

And, after a day and a half's ride and a short, but intense battle, the
knights quickly acquiesced to the offer.

For the feast, all types of food--much of it taken directly from what
the ogres had pillaged and loaded onto their carts--was served up on
tables set up within Center Square itself. Ale and wine poured freely
into what seemed to be bottomless tankards, and music and song from the
town's finest minstrels and bards gave the night an almost festival
atmosphere.

After the meal, the villagers continued to show the knights their
gratitude by offering them a number of gifts ranging from heirloom
quilted blankets to household bric-a-brac made from precious metals and
rare wood. In a few cases the offered gifts included the favors of
several of the more adventurous--not to mention attractive--women of the
village. The knights, of course, all remained true to the Oath and the
Measure and kindly refused such tempting entreaties.

Especially virtuous among the knights was Lord Soth himself, who despite
the intoxicating effect of the ale and the tempting proposition made to
him by a pretty and buxom young farm girl, found his thoughts kept
drifting back toward Dargaard Keep and his Lady Korinne who waited
patiently for him to return.

Chapter 6.

"Step forward," Said the Kingpriest.

The young woman stepped forward, carrying her bundled infant in her
arms.

To the woman's left was a somewhat older female mage dressed in the
familiar yellow and white robes of the followers of the Kingpriest.

"Mage Hailerin," said the Kingpriest, indicating the mage standing
beside the woman, "reports to me that you have had wickedly evil
thoughts about this child."

"I'm not aware of having any evil thoughts your holiness," the woman
said, her head bowed, her voice full of humility.

"Mage Hailerin," said the Kingpriest.

The female mage stepped forward. "I was walking along this woman's
street late last night when I heard a baby's cry. It was loud and
constant and seemed to convey great pain."

The Kingpriest nodded. "Go on."

"I went looking for the source of the cry, a search that led me straight
to this woman's house."

"And what did you see?"

"When I arrived I looked in through the window and saw this woman
tending to her child."

"But the child was crying?" asked the Kingpriest.

"He's been colicky of late ..." the woman said.

"Silence!" said the Kingpriest. "You may speak when the mage is done."

The woman fell silent, but looked to be on the verge of tears.

"She was trying to comfort the child at first, but it continued to cry
and would not stop. And that's when she began to shake the child, only a
little at first, but then more rigorously."

The Kingpriest's eyebrows arched and he nodded. He leaned forward. "And
her thoughts?"

The mage looked at the woman. "Her thoughts ranged from abandoning the
child on a doorstep, to bashing its head with a large rock."

The Kingpriest looked surprised.

The woman began shaking her head. "He's been colicky for the longest
time," she said. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in six months. It
seems like he's been crying constantly. Nothing I've done has helped."
"Do you deny having these thoughts?" asked the Kingpriest.

"I love my baby," she said.

"Answer the question."

"What mother hasn't had such thoughts at some point in her life?"

"So you admit to having thoughts about abandoning, even killing your
infant child?"

"I was frustrated and might have considered it for a second," said the
woman, her voice trembling with fear. "But I'd never do such a ghastly
thing. I love my son and would never do anything to hurt him."

"But yet you were seen shaking the child."

"I was at my wit's end, I didn't know what else to do."

"Shaking an innocent child is an evil act. If you are capable of doing
that, what is to prevent you from enacting your heinous thoughts of
killing the child?"

"I love my baby."

The Kingpriest looked away, no longer listening to the woman's desperate
pleas. "You are hereby sentenced to death so that your evil thoughts can
never become evil deeds. But you need not worry for your child. He will
be taken into the temple and raised by members of the clergy.

When he is of age, he will be trained as a dene's apprentice."

The child was unceremoniously torn from the woman's arms.

"No!" she screamed. "My baby ..."

The child began to scream.

The woman was grabbed by two guards and escorted out of the temple, her
cries echoing off the stone walls and down the stone corridors.

The child was taken in the other direction, its cries as chillingly
piercing as its mother's.

The Kingpriest looked at the mage, smiled and said, "Well done. Mage
Hailerin. Well done."

Chapter 7

Dargaard Keep was dark.

Silent.

Soth's steps echoed off the cold, hard bloodstone, sounding like drops
of water falling into a deep dark well. He climbed up the staircase
toward the master bedchamber.

He'd been away for weeks, leading his loyal knights in the fight against
the forces of Evil. He had returned a hero, but without warning, and
therefore had arrived without fanfare, without a proper hero's
reception.

But all that was unimportant. All he really wanted was to see his lady
love. To embrace her and love her over and over again, to somehow make
up for the long chill nights he'd left her alone while he traveled the
dark and lonely plains.

He neared the bedchamber.

And heard the voices.

They were soft, whispery voices. The kind of voices lovers use to
exchange secrets and fondest desires. One of the voices belonged to Lady
Korinne, the other ... The other was deeper in tone and louder. It was
the voice of a man. Soth suddenly inhaled.

A man's voice in his lady's bedchamber in the middle of the night. It
could mean only one thing.

Soth felt anger roil within him as his muscles tensed like iron bands.
He drew his sword and pounded on the door.

There were hurried sounds coming from inside.

Bedsheets ruffling. Hushed whispers.

Again Soth pounded on the door, this time with the hilt of his sword.

"It is open," came of the voice of Korinne. It was soft and sweet, as if
she'd just awakened from a pleasant dream.

Soth turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Several candles lit the room and moonlight beamed in through the open
window. Korinne was smiling. "Loren," she said, stretching her arms out
to him.

Her smile angered him even more. How could a woman who had proclaimed
her love so passionately suddenly become so treacherous and unfaithful?
He wanted nothing more than to shout his words at her, to let his anger
be known, but he found he could not utter a single syllable.

He moved toward the bed, ignoring the pleading words of his wife. Then
he raised his sword above his head, both hands wrapped tightly around
the hilt, blade pointed downward ... And brought it down with force,
running the pointed tip through the shape that cowered beneath the
covers next to Lady Korinne.

There was a loud grunt.

Dark stains began to bloom outward around the sword.

He reached down, pulled back the cover and saw a face familiar to him.

His own.

Korinne simply laughed.

Soth awoke abruptly, covered in sweat and shivering.

His breath came hard and fast as if he'd been running for hours. He sat
up on the bed, an extra large one belonging to the Mayor of Halton, and
glanced around him. The room was empty and dark. The night was still and
quiet.

By the position of the moons it looked as if sunrise was several hours
away. Soth lay back on the bed, thankful that no one had seen him awaken
in such a state.

Such a horrible, horrible dream.

A nightmare of his own design.

He had no reason to distrust Lady Korinne, and even if he did, no one
would be fool enough to covet the wife of Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep,
Knight of the Rose.

He took a deep breath and chased all thoughts of the distressing dream
from his mind. One last shiver coursed through his body, then he took a
final deep breath. He closed his eyes and tried to return to sleep, but
fitfully tossed and turned until dawn.

****

"How did you sleep?" Caradoc asked.

Soth looked at him. "Like a fallen tree," he lied.

"As did I," said Caradoc. "As we all did no doubt."

"Indeed," replied Soth, turning away from his seneschal to hide his yawn
while he busied himself in preparation to leave the village.

The villagers had made sure the knights were served a grand breakfast,
and while they ate, had loaded up their horses with all manner of
provisions for the journey home. The provisions were unnecessary because
the knights would be meeting up with the party of squires and footmen
mere hours after leaving the village, but no matter how Soth told them
this, the villagers would not accept the refusal of their offerings.

And now as the sun rose higher in the morning sky, the villagers lined
the main road leading north in order to give the knights a rousing final
sendoff.

Unlike the knights' charge out of Dargaard Keep, this departure was
slow-paced and festive; the knights almost lingered in the village, not
wanting to leave.

Soth saw this as a good sign, ensuring that there would be no shortage
of volunteers to relieve the three knights he was leaving behind to keep
watch on the village.

When they cleared the northern edge of the village, the knights
continued on at a leisurely pace. They were all enjoying the freedom of
the plains and none of them were in any particular hurry to return to
the cold, bloodstone walls of Dargaard Keep.

Even Lord Soth, whose mind had been filled with thoughts of Lady
Korinne, was now of a mind to spend a little more time away from the
keep to clear his head of the dreams which had been haunting him.
Besides that, more time away would make their hearts grow fonder,
assuring that their reunion would be a passionately amorous one.

They met up with the party of squires and footmen just after midday and
decided to make camp mere on the plains.

Several of the knights who had been wounded during the brief battle had
been treated in Halton, but some of them had wounds that were best
treated by the keep's healer who had joined the squires on the journey.
These knights were quickly attended to while the rest took the
opportunity to remove battle armor and change into fresh clothes.

And as the day wore on and food and drink were consumed in abundance,
the knights began to relax. While they had had the opportunity to rest
inside Halton, they were still required to maintain the dignified
appearance expected of the Knights of Solamnia. But here, among their
fellow Sons of Paladine, the mood was considerably more boisterous as
they truly celebrated their victory.

"How on Krynn did the ogres think they could actually get away with such
an insane expedition?" asked Petr Hallis, a squire assigned to the
Knights of the Sword.

Soth considered the question as he and several of the knights sat under
the shade of a tree late in the afternoon.

"Ogres aren't known for their ability to think a plan through to its
end," he answered. "They more than likely found themselves short on
supplies for the coming winter and their only thought as to how to
procure supplies was to steal them from those who had them in reserve.
It's unlikely that thoughts of purchasing supplies or bartering for them
with goods of their own making ever entered their mind."

"Why did they think they could get away with it?

Halton has been protected by the Knights of Solamnia for years."

Soth looked at the young squire. "Criminals seldom think that they will
fail. Their thoughts are almost always concentrated on the success of
their venture, not on the repercussions of being caught in the act."

The young squire nodded in understanding.

Soth's eyes caught Caradoc's glance and for a moment he was reminded of
his own past deeds. He imagined what might have happened if they had
been caught, or implicated in any way in the murders of his
half-siblings.

A slight shiver ran through his body.

"But enough of this," said Soth. "Ogres are little more than bullies at
heart. Bullies who quickly turn out to be cowards when confronted by
those unafraid of their size, strength and most odorous smell."

A laugh rose up from the group surrounding Soth.

"A toast to a victory for the Knights of Solamnia." He raised his
tankard. "A small victory for us, but none were ever larger or more
important to the good people of Halton."

"Cheers!"

Wine and ale flowed well into the night and the minor cuts, wounds,
aches and pains obtained during the fight were slowly, and easily,
forgotten.

A dozen knights, squires and footmen gathered around the fire, telling
stories as a way to keep them all amused.

Although some of the tales concerned the exploits of bawdy women, most
of the tales featured Knights of Solamnia both real and imagined and
ranged from humorous anecdotes illustrating the stupidity of ogres, to
more somber tales illustrating the wisdom of Paladine, or the
benevolence of Mishakal.

Currently the young squire Arnol Kraas was telling a tale, one he'd no
doubt recently learned as part of his studies as an aspirant knight.

"A young Knight of the Sword ventured upon the road to visit his friends
in Vingaard Keep," the squire began.

"Along the way he came upon a young woman lying by the side of the road,
weeping. Quickly, the knight dismounted and went to her side. When he
lifted her up he saw that she had been severely beaten."

All of the knights were familiar with the tale, having studied it as
squires themselves. Nevertheless, none interrupted him. The telling of
the tales, even the most familiar, reminded them all of the lessons to
be remembered.

"When he asked the woman's name, she told him it was Stalen Lamplight.
The knight was shocked. He knew Stalen Lamplight, and truth be told, had
loved her from afar for many years, had considered many times asking her
to be his bride. Her beauty had been well-known throughout the land, but
now it was gone, taken away by the weapons of the ogres who resented all
beauty, whether it be in humans or their Irda brethren.

"The knight took the young woman in his arms and prayed to Mishakal to
restore Stalen's beauty, promising to marry the woman and protect her
for the rest of her days if she would only grant his wish. Mishakal
answered the knight's prayers, appearing before him as a glowing ball of
soft white light.

"I will restore her beauty,' Mishakal told the knight, 'but I will leave
it up to you to decide whether you wish her beauty to return during the
daylight hours when others might see her, or during the dark of night
when you alone will be by her side."

"The knight was unsure which of Mishakal's offers he should accept.
Certainly he would want her to be beautiful as she lay by his side, but
then again he couldn't force her to show her hideously scarred face as
he presented her as his wife during daylight hours.

"In the end, he could not decide. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it was
his decision to make. And that is what he told the Healing Hand.
'Mishakal,' he said. 'I can not decide the woman's fate for her. I leave
the decision up to her, and will stand by my offer of marriage whatever
she decides."

"The glowing light that was Mishakal shone brighter.

"You have chosen correctly,' she said. 'It is not up to you to decide
another's fate, but to allow her to make her own choices in life. As a
reward, she will have her beauty restored ... both night and day."

His story finished, Kraas looked around. The knights, who were expecting
a more polished ending to the tale were caught slightly off guard, but
recovered by giving the young squire a polite smattering of applause.

Kraas seemed satisfied.

Soth took the opportunity to put another piece of wood on the fire. The
familiarity of Kraas's tale had calmed the knights. Perhaps it was time
to make their blood run faster. "How about a tale from you. Knight
Grimscribe?" asked Soth.

"Yes."

"How about it?" chimed the knights.

Derik Grimscribe was a Sword knight originally from one of the small
villages surrounding Dargaard Keep. A knight of average skill on the
battlefield, Grimscribe was a master of words, able to tell stories or
negotiate between warring clans with equal amounts of tact and skill. A
story from Grimscribe was a treat to be sure.

"Very well then," said Grimscribe, moving closer to the fire to give his
face an eerie sort of otherworldly glow. "A new story ... of terror." He
looked around at the knights, his face a mask of twisted light and
shadow.

"A long time ago, before your grandfather had finished suckling his
mother's breast ..." he began in a low voice.

The knights rolled forward to listen more closely.

"... a Rose knight of Solamnia had lost his way after a long and
exhausting battle with an especially foul blue dragon."

"A battle he no doubt won," quipped a footman.

"Yesss," hissed Grimscribe, "but as the knight left the dragon for dead,
the evil blue spoke words in an ancient tongue, placing a powerful curse
on the knight."

The knights were silent. Although there were no longer such things as
dragons, all of the knights respected the power they were credited with
in the stories told of the great dragon wars.

"So, the knight entered the Darken Wood in search of his fellow Sons of
Paladine. But the forest was so dark, even in the middle of the day,
that it wasn't long before the brave knight was utterly lost.

"Still he carried on through the darkness, hoping to come upon one of
his fellows, but after a few hours he finally conceded that he was
indeed hopelessly lost." Grimscribe paused after the word to let the
thought sink in.

"But just then," snapped Grimscribe, making several squires jump in
surprise, "he came upon what looked to be a mounted knight. At first he
thought he'd found a fellow Knight of Solamnia, but as he got closer to
the figure it was obvious that the stranger's manner of dress was unlike
that of any knight he'd ever seen before, Solamnic or otherwise. He was
dressed in a deep-blue, almost black, cloak that went from the top of
his head and on down past his feet. His horse too, was blacker than any
knight had ever dared to ride. The Rose knight was leery about asking
such a stranger for help, but he was lost and any help was better than
none at all."

The knights were silent, but judging by their faces some were obviously
skeptical about this last bit of wisdom.

"Excuse me,' the Rose knight called out. But there was no answer from
the stranger, who kept on riding as if he hadn't heard a word. The
knight then brought his horse to a trot and quickly caught up to the
dark traveler. 'I beg your pardon, sir,' he said, this time tapping on
the stranger's shoulder to get his attention. Still, there was no
response.

"Becoming somewhat frustrated, the knight reached over and grabbed the
man's cloak in his hand and pulled on it. 'I'm talking to you!' he said
forcefully. At that moment the cloak fell away from the traveler's
head."

The knights were silent. Several held their breath.

"The traveler turned around and the knight suddenly saw that the
traveler's face wasn't human, but that of the blue dragon."

Gasps all around.

"Well, even though the Rose knight and his mount had been tested
countless times in battle, they were terrified by the unexpected sight
and ran off into the darkest part of the woods, never to find their way
out again."

Soth smiled and looked around at the somewhat apprehensive faces of the
knights. "Well done, Grimscribe," he said. "An excellent tale for such a
dark and frigid night."

"How about one from you. Lord Soth?" asked Grimscribe.

"Oh, I don't think--"

The knights quickly joined together in prodding Soth to tell a story and
at last he agreed. "All right, all right, but I doubt my story will be
told as skillfully as Knight Grimscribe's." "Whose are?" someone
shouted, the words followed by soft laughter.

"Very well, then," Soth said. He knew few tales, but at last chose one
he knew well enough to relate orally.

"Before Vinas Solamnus organized the Knights of Solamnia, he was
employed by the Emperor of Ergoth as commander of the palace guard in
the capital city of Daltigoth."

A soft murmur of hushed voices circulated around the fire. This was a
story that deserved to be told over and over again. Especially in such
select company.

"Vinas Solamnus was a pious man, a gallant warrior and a leader truly
beloved by his men. He was also loyal to the emperor and provided him
with a palace guard which no single army could rival. Meanwhile, on the
northeastern plains of Ergoth, the people there--proud, noble and
independent folk--had grown tired of the emperor's iron-handed style of
government and, joining forces, mounted a rebellion.

"Solamnus and his knights were dispatched to the region to quell the
uprising. After several fierce battles, Solamnus grew to respect and
admire the rebel fighters for their tenacity and courage. He also
realized that there must be some truth to their claims in order for them
to fight so fiercely for what they believed to be right and just.

And so, Solamnus agreed to meet with the rebel leaders so that they
could tell their side of the story. The great knight listened patiently
to the people detail their grievances.

Solamnus was moved by their plight and investigated their claims. To his
surprise and dismay, he discovered that the rebels had been telling the
truth. But worst of all for Solamnus was the realization that his
loyalty to the emperor had left him blind to the injustices being done
to the people. Solamnus immediately called his followers together, much
in the same way you are gathered here, and presented the people's case
to them.

"When he was done, he gave his knights a choice." He gave a nod to Amol
Kraas, connecting the lesson learned from his tale to the story he was
telling now. "Those who believed in the rebels' cause were welcome to
stay. Those who did not were given leave to return to Daltigoth.

"Most of the knights chose to remain loyal to Vinas Solamnus, even
though it would mean certain exile from Ergoth for them, and quite
possibly death. Those who returned to Daltigoth gave Solamnus's message
to the emperor--correct the wrongs being done to the people, or prepare
for war."

Soth paused to wet his throat. The knights remained silent, listening
intently. Even though they knew this story well, it must have sounded
different coming from a knight such as Soth.

"Of course, the emperor denounced Solamnus as a traitor, stripping him
of his lands and title. The people of Daltigoth prepared for a war which
would eventually come to be known as the War of Ice Tears because that
winter was the most severe in Ergoth's recorded history.

But despite the cold, Solamnus was able, with the loyal and steadfast
support of his knights"--Soth put extra emphasis on these last few words
for obvious reasons-- "to lay siege to the city, destroying its food
supplies and spreading the news of the emperor's corruption. All the
while the emperor himself remained hidden like a coward deep within the
bowels of his palace."

Several knights let out mild harumphs of contempt.

"In two months the capital fell and the emperor was forced to sue for
peace. As a result, the northeastern part of Ergoth gained its
independence. The people named it Solamnia in honor of their new king,
Vinas Solamnus.

And although Solamnia never achieved its greatness and power until long
after the death of Vinas Solamnus, it quickly came to be known as a land
populated by people who possessed great amounts of honesty, integrity,
and fierce determination."

The knights remained silent for several long moments and all that could
be heard was the snap and crackle of the slightly greener wood on the
fire.

And then a voice.

"May our loyalty to you, milord," said Colm Farold, "someday be compared
to that of the knights who served Vinas Solamnus so well."

"Hear, hear!" the rest of the knights said in unison.

"I have no doubt that it will," said Soth, nodding graciously.

After the tales had ended, the fire burned through the night, providing
some warmth against the cool nocturnal winds that blew across the
plains.

There was little danger of reprisals from the ogres of Throtyl who would
no doubt think twice in the future before attacking soil under the
protection of the Knights of Solamnia. And, other than a few wild
animals, there was little else to be wary of in this part of Knightlund.
So the knights had all drunk their fill and set about to get a peaceful
night's sleep under the stars.

All except for Soth.

He did not look forward to the night. Considering the dreams he'd been
having of late, sleep was something to be avoided or at least put off
until absolutely necessary.

For that reason, he wandered around the perimeter of the camp under the
pretense of keeping watch.

"Milord," said Meyer Seril. "It is my turn to keep watch.

And with all the squires here I don't think you are even scheduled to
take a turn."

Soth turned and looked at the young Crown knight appreciatively. "I'm
not very tired," he said. "} might as well keep watch if I'm going to be
awake. You go to sleep, Knight Seril. You fought well, and you deserve
to get some rest."

"Thank you, milord," the young knight said, proud to have been noticed
by his lord.

"Go now," said Soth. He had no idea how Seril had fought because the
battle had been so brief, but it didn't hurt to tell him he'd done well.
Nor did it hurt for him to take the watch when he wasn't required to.
Such a thing did wonders for the knights' morale and loyalty, not to
mention their opinion of him as a leader.

With Seril gone, Soth walked around the encampment and looked north
toward Dargaard Keep. The pinnacle of its rose-shaped silhouette was
just discernible against the dark night sky. As he stared at the keep,
he marveled at how black its form appeared even in the dead of night.

The sight chilled him.

And, as he wrapped his cloak around himself to stave off the chill
shiver that ran through him, he suddenly looked forward to morning, and
the coming of the sun.

Chapter 8.

The knights broke camp early the next morning ano rode across the plains
with the outline of Dargaard Keep constantly before them, rising up from
the horizon like a rose-shaped beacon. By midday they were close enough
to make out details in the keep's walls such as windows and battlements,
and by late afternoon they had begun to discern the individual blocks of
bloodstone.

Given that their approach would have been monitored throughout the day
from one or more of the keep's towers, the knights fully expected that
their return would be accompanied by a suitable amount of fanfare.

They were not disappointed.

Residents of the keep and those employed in and around it all came out
to welcome the triumphant knights.

Men, women and children lined the path of their approach, all happy to
see them returning so soon after their departure and in good health.

As the knights neared, the wooden drawbridge was lowered over the chasm
that surrounded the keep and the heavy steel portcullis rose up like a
welcoming hand being offered in greeting.

Gared Kentner, the keep's quartermaster, counted the number of knights
on horseback and asked Soth with a grave voice, "Casualties?"

Soth slowed and looked down at the clerk. "None. I've left several
knights in Halton as a precautionary measure." "Excellent," said
Kentner, who was probably thankful that he wouldn't have to process any
personal belongings or make adjustments to the bunk allotments.

Soth continued on into the keep.

Heading up the welcoming party inside was Lady Korinne. As Soth rode
toward her he noticed that she had donned her finest robes and jewels in
order to greet him.

He held his breath a moment. She looked even more beautiful than he
remembered.

Feeling his heart gathering up in his throat, Soth quickly dismounted
and approached her. He took her hand in his.

She said, "Milord."

Soth removed his helm, leaned forward, took her in his arms and kissed
her. There was passion in her kiss to be sure, but there was also
something else to it, something that was keeping her from giving herself
up to him completely.

For a moment Soth's mind raced back to the dream he'd had during his
night on the plains. Had she been unfaithful?

He immediately broke off the kiss and pulled himself away from her. "Is
there something you must tell me?" he said, his voice even and devoid of
emotion.

She looked up. Tears began to well in her eyes.

Soth feared the worst.

"I ... I am not with child as we had hoped." When she finally said the
words, they escaped her lips in a rush, like water gushing from a broken
damn.

Soth was simultaneously hit by waves of relief and disappointment.

Korinne had not conceived, but his dream and subsequent fear over her
infidelity had been little more than folly on his part.

As he looked at her, he made sure his face betrayed none of his
emotions. He simply gazed into her pale green eyes and said, "Then we
shall have to try again." He allowed a loving smile to creep onto his
face. "And often."

Upon hearing the words, Lady Korinne let out a long sigh.

Obviously she had feared his reaction would be more severe. But what
could he do? Draw his sword and threaten her with it until she produced
an heir? It was a popular tactic with barbarians, but there was no proof
that it actually worked. No, this was just as difficult for her because
she wanted a child just as much--perhaps even more--than he did. Soth
felt it best that they try to ease each other's pain rather than add to
it.

"Perhaps we should even try ... right away. Right now," said Soth.

A girlish sort of smile broke over Korinne's face.

He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs toward their
bedchamber.

* * * *

The passionate nights Soth spent by Lady Korinne's side continued
throughout the winter, keeping them both warm and protecting them from
the chill of the winter months--Frostkolt, Newkolt and Deepkolt.

But the winter's icy cold lingered despite the coming of spring when
Dargaard Keep was rocked by the news of Lord Reynard Gladria's death at
his home in Palanthas.

Although he had been ill for many months, his death still came as a
shock to Lord Soth and Lady Korinne. indeed, all of Solamnia mourned the
man's passing. But what made it doubly painful for Korinne was that she
hadn't given her father a grandchild before his passing. For this
reason, Korinne long considered herself to be a failure and no amount of
words from Soth, family or friends--however kind--could bring her out of
her state of despondency.

After journeying to Palanthas for Lord Reynard's elaborate public
funeral, Soth remained in the city for several weeks while the slow
passage of time gently eased Korinne's pain. Then as the month of
Brookgreen came to a close and Soth felt he'd neglected his knightly
duties long enough and was compelled to return to Dargaard Keep, he
offered to let Korinne remain with her mother in Palanthas and return to
the keep only when she felt she was ready.

Korinne refused.

With a loyalty and honor worthy of a Knight of Solamnia she told Soth,
"My place is by my husband's side. I will return with you to Dargaard
Keep." And with that they returned to Knightlund with renewed hopes of
birthing an heir before Korinne's mother Leyla also passed away.

But Yurthgreen also came and went, and despite the flowering of the
plants and the greenery beginning to sprout on the trees around the
keep, Korinne once again came to Soth with the now agonizingly painful
news.

This time Soth simply raised his eyebrows expectantly, having used words
to ask the question far too often.

Korinne shook her head.

Soth let out a sigh, his chest aching. He'd been able to remain
optimistic by believing that when Paladine (the Great Dragon and the God
of Good) wished him to have an heir, he would bless the couple with one.
After all, were not the Knights of Solamnia also called the Sons of
Paladine? Surely, a new "Son" for the Soth household was only a matter
of time. Still, the wait grew more and more painful with each passing
month.

Korinne's eyes welled up with tears. She looked away from Soth as if
ashamed, then turned and quickly left the room.

Soth remained where he was, his words on the matter-- no matter how
kind--having been unable to ease her pain for many, many months now. He
tried to busy himself with some task, but could not.

Korinne's sobs could be heard echoing too loudly through the keep.

* * * *

The forest was burning.

Soth looked around him and saw nothing but flames eating up the trees.
He was being pushed northward, the fire at his back leaving him no other
choice.

He must have been running for hours. His legs had become heavy and
leaden, each step becoming that much harder to take. At last, he could
not go on.

"Father?"

The voice, it was the same one as before. It belonged to his son.

"Father? Are you there? Help me!"

Soth tried to run, but his legs had grown far too tired, his body
exhausted from continually running from the flames.

He took two more awkward steps and fell to his knees.

"Father, why don't you help me?"

He searched the smoke that hung over the forest like a pall and
discerned movement in the distance.

It was his son, younger than before, dressed in the garb of a squire.
His eyes were closed, no doubt seared by the heat and smoke of the fire.
He was wandering the forest aimlessly, stepping over fallen trees and
smoldering ashes, even walking at times directly toward the fire itself.

Soth opened his mouth to call out to the boy, and suddenly realized he
did not know what to call him.

He didn't know his own son's name.

"Father! Save me!"

Soth opened his mouth once more and gagged on the thick black smoke
enshrouding him like darkness incarnate.

"Father, are you there?"

He gagged and coughed on the acrid smoke. He wanted to call out, but
before he could make a sound a burning tree toppled, crashing down onto
the younger Soth, knocking him to the ground and setting his clothes
ablaze.

As he watched the flames eat away at his son, his own flesh and blood,
Soth heard the boy's final words.

"Father, it hurts ..."

* * * *

Soth's eyes shot open and he coughed to clear his throat of phlegm. He
looked over to where Korinne lay.

Thankfully, she was still asleep, the slight smile gracing her visage
proof that she'd remained oblivious to the horrible nightmare that had
haunted him yet again.

Soth rubbed his fisted hands against his sleepy eyes. It had been months
since he'd had such a dream, not since he had been on the trail toward
Halton. At the time he'd dismissed it as simply a product of his
eagerness to do battle. But now, there had been months of calm and
peaceful existence within the keep. Even the citizens of Knightlund had
been cooperative, settling their minor squabbles and arguments
themselves rather than wasting the valuable time of the lord of the
keep.

Then what could have brought it on?

He rose from the bed, careful to leave Korinne undisturbed.

Then he quickly got dressed in leggings and a tunic, and slipped into a
pair of soft-soled boots so as to not make any noise as he wandered
through the keep.

It was still quite early in the morning and few in the keep would be
awake yet. Even the roosters had yet to begin crowing the dawning of a
new day.

He slipped out of the room and ventured down to the keep's gatehouse.
The drawbridge was already down in preparation for the morning's
deliveries. Soth asked the footman on watch to raise the portcullis
enough to allow him to get outside of the keep and wander the grounds.

"Alone?" asked the footman.

Soth merely glared at him. Even though it was customary to have a knight
or footman accompany anyone venturing out of the keep on foot, Soth
wanted very much to be alone.

The footman looked at Soth for several seconds waiting for an answer.
Then, realizing he wouldn't be getting one, he said, "Yes, milord." He
began turning the winding gear that slowly lifted the portcullis. Soth
crouched down and ducked under the still-rising portcullis, then walked
across the heavy wooden bridge, his feet making no sounds against its
planks.

He stopped at one side of the bridge and looked down into the chasm
below. It was dark and foreboding, like the open maw of a dragon might
appear when viewed from close up. There were several pebbles on the
bridge. Soth nudged one toward the edge and finally over the side. He
listened carefully, but did not hear the stone hit bottom.

He moved on, crossing the bridge and heading toward the small garden
kept on the grounds. After the wedding, flowers and trees and shrubs had
been planted on the site and now, almost a year later, the plants were
beginning to bloom. The garden was awash in bright yellows and oranges,
and rich blues and greens. It was still too early for the roses, but the
groundskeepers had assured him they would be a brilliant spectacle of
red, white and yellow when they bloomed in a few short weeks.

The stunning rebirth of nature did little to improve Soth's state of
mind. The blossoming of new life only served to remind him of his and
Korinne's inability to do the same.

It just didn't make any sense.

If his father, Aynkell Soth, had been able to create offspring so often
and with such apparent ease then why not him as well? Was he not of the
same flesh and blood?

And what of Korinne? Hadn't Lord and Lady Gladria given birth to a large
family, providing Korinne with several brothers and sisters, each of
them with several children of their own? Why hadn't such fertility been
passed on to her as well?

For the first time since the wedding, Soth's mind was infected by doubt.

Perhaps I've made a mistake in marrying Lady Korinne.

The thought hit him like the slap of a hand encased in cold, hard mail.
How could I have thought such a thing?

And yet it continued to haunt him, like the dreams.

He walked through the garden, smelling the flowers in the hopes that the
devilish thought would fade from his

memory. But instead it lingered.

He approached the small gazebo positioned in the center of the garden.
It was closed off by a small gate and the gate was kept closed by a
latch. Although the latch was made to accommodate a lock, it was without
one. Soth opened the latch and stepped into the gazebo. As he closed the
gate behind him he was reminded of a kender saying.

"Why insult a door's purpose by locking it?"

Indeed, and why would Paladine allow them to build a nest of such love
if its destiny was to be barren? Soth still believed Paladine was
waiting for the proper time to give the couple children, but he was
beginning to question why the Great Dragon was making them wait so long.

As he sat down on the bench inside the gazebo and watched the morning
sun begin to crest the peaks of the Dargaard Mountains to the west, he
felt he had an idea of what the answer might be.

Perhaps Paladine was making him pay the price for his father's
indiscretions and his own concealment of them.

The sins of the father.

They would be with him.

Always.

Soth felt a breeze blow heavily down from the mountains.

It was a cool wind and it made him shiver.

"Milord."

Soth fumed to his left. Caradoc slowly appeared out of the garden's
shadows.

"Is everything all right?" asked Soth's seneschal, concern for his lord
apparent in his voice.

"Yes, everything is fine," said Soth. "It's just that there's a chill in
the air this morning." He pulled his cloak more tightly around his body
to stave off the cold. "Can you feel it?"

Caradoc looked at Soth strangely. "No milord, I can't."

Chapter 9

The elderly mage walked casually through the streets of Istar, his
yellow and white robes flowing behind, swirling over the cobblestones.
Every once in a while he would glance into a store front or shop window
looking at everything, but nothing in particular.

It was a strange feeling.

He had been empowered by the Kingpriest to read the minds of the people
of Istar so that he could discern their evil thoughts. But, what was he
to do about those evil thoughts after they'd been found out, and how was
he to prevent them from becoming evil deeds?

On this subject the Kingpriest had been vague, leaving the matter up to
the discretion of the individual mages.

Earlier in the day the mage had watched a business transaction being
conducted in the marketplace on the city's west side. A fisherman from
the coastal down of Cesena had brought baskets of fish to trade for
grain, sugar, spice and other necessities of life. In this particular
transaction he had exchanged twenty-four fish for two bushels of grain,
a poor trade given that the fish were quite fresh--even packed in
ice--while the quality of the grain was rather dubious. But grain at
this time of year was hard to find, especially high quality grain, so
the fisherman was forced to make the trade or else do without.

After the deal had been made and the two men shook hands, the mage read
the minds of each. The grain dealer was obviously happy, but the
fisherman was frustrated by the deal, knowing he had given up more than
he'd received.

And then ... something of an evil thought.

The fisherman wished that the grain dealer would be similarly cheated in
another transaction later in the day.

As he'd watch the two men part, the mage considered the fisherman's
thought.

Had it been evil?

At length, he decided it was not. It was simply wishing that the trader
eventually got what he deserved. That had not been an evil thought, but
rather, merely fair.

Now as he walked the streets of the industrial district, the mage
stopped by the open window of a blacksmith's shop and watched the smith
as he worked.

The interior of the shop glowed orange from the light of the fire
burning hotly off in one corner. Judging by the several decorative
swords leaning against the wall in a neat row, the smith was busy
hammering out items to be hung in one of the halls within the Temple of
the Kingpriest. The hilt ends of the swords were of an elaborate design
and considering the amount of effort the smith was putting into the
sword currently on the anvil, quite difficult to fashion.

The mage decided to read the smith's mind.

Little more there ... Too much ... A curve here ... More ... More ...
The thoughts seemed to correspond with the blows of his hammer.

Again ... Harder this time ... More ... Too much!

But in addition to the simple thoughts that went along with each blow,
there was also an underlying current of anger. Anger against what or
whom, the mage couldn't tell, but it was there just under the surface,
ready to break through at any moment.

Too much work for so little pay ... Flatter ... Harder ... Again ...
Suddenly the sword the smith was working on cracked, sending pieces of
hot metal flaring away like comets before sizzling against the damp
stone floor of the shop.

More time and money gone ... Too much work, even for the Kingpriest ...
The smith lifted the broken sword away from the anvil and inspected the
crack, and then its sharp, pointed tip.

Perhaps it's just sharp enough for the Kingpriest ... Straight through
the heart and a quick turn for good measure ... The mage gasped at the
wickedness of the thought. To kill the Kingpriest was unthinkable. The
mage simply could not allow such evil thoughts to fester in the smith's
mind. And there was only one sure way to put a stop to them.

The mage closed his eyes and began to mumble a string of unintelligible
words and syllables.

And as he did so, the smith began to sway as if he were beginning to
feel dizzy. The smith shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, but
still continued to sway.

At last the mage fell silent.

The spell had been cast.

The smith fell forward still holding the sword in his hands.

The hilt hit the floor and the sharp point pierced his throat, choking
off his breath ... And putting an end to all his evil thoughts.

Chapter 10.

Sunshine-filled days And rain-swept nights provided the perfect
conditions for farming, and the farmers of Solamnia were already
thanking Paladine for what they expected to be a bumper crop and
bountiful harvest.

But for Lord Soth, the month of Holmswelt meant something else. Every
summer the Knights of Solamnia traveled across Ansalon to meet and
confer about everything from the training of squires, to the retirement
of elderly knights, from the latest developments in weaponry and armor
to scholarly studies of the Oath and The Measure.

The previous year, Soth had missed the annual meeting because of
preparations for the wedding and the transfer of rule of Knightlund from
his father to himself. This year however, Soth had to attend because, as
a leading member of the Order of the Rose, he would be more than
conspicuous by his absence.

And so, on the first day of Holmswelt, Soth and six of his loyal knights
prepared for the three-day journey across the Solamnic plains to
Palanthas, the great port city and the jewel of Solamnia.

Soth had chosen to take only six knights with him-- Crown knights
Caradoc, Kern and Krejigaard, and Sword knights Valcic, Vingus, and
Farold--the journey being something of a reward for their outstanding
conduct over the course of the past twelve months. Soth took everything
into consideration when making his choices, from bravery in battle
against the ogres in Halton to keeping spirits and morale high
throughout the long, cold winter.

He might have been able to bring more knights with him, but with a
limited number attending the meeting, that would have come at the
expense of other Knights of Solamnia stationed elsewhere on the
continent.

Besides, the system currently in use had proved best in terms of
educating the entire knighthood. When Soth's six knights returned to
Dargaard Keep, they would instruct the others in what they had learned.
In this way all the Knights of Solamnia could grow stronger while those
in Palanthas wouldn't have to scramble in order to accommodate every
knight who wished to attend.

Out of respect for the hot summer sun, Soth dressed for the journey by
wearing a light tunic and leggings and covered that with lightweight
leather armor. He expected little trouble on the way and indeed there
had only been a few uprisings (such as the ogre attack on Halton) ever
since the Kingpriest of Istar's Proclamation of Manifest Virtue. The
proclamation, made many years ago, had dealt a death blow to the minions
of Evil still brave (or perhaps mad) enough to show themselves on the
continent of Ansalon. At times Soth felt the Kingpriest was becoming too
powerful for his own good, but that was something for clerics and
politicians to decide. He was a warrior, and fought for the cause of
Good in whatever guise it decided to manifest itself.

The six knights were already mounted upon their horses and waiting
patiently while Soth said goodbye to Korinne.

"The Knights' Meeting runs seven days. I will likely be gone twice that
length of time."

"Take as much time as you need," said Korinne. "No more, no less."

Soth nodded. Korinne was a strong woman and had proved to be an
excellent wife in all but one crucial area.

She looked at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Perhaps by the time you return--"

Soth cut off her words by placing his right index finger to her lips. He
shook his head. "It pains me to continue to be so hopeful," he said,
knowing the words would hurt Korinne, but not knowing any easier way to
say them.

"Perhaps it would be better for both of us if you would talk to me about
children only when you are truly with child."

Korinne looked up at Soth, her lips pressed together to no doubt keep
them from trembling. Her eyes looked wet and glassy, on the verge of
tears. "Yes, milord."

He leaned forward to kiss her and felt her dry lips press against his
cheek. He straightened up and looked at her for several moments wanting
to say something but not knowing what. Finally, he turned away and
mounted his horse.

"To Palanthas!" he said.

He led the knights slowly through the gate, under the portcullis and
over the drawbridge leading out of Dargaard Keep. Although the
portcullis remained up until they were well on their way and nearly out
of sight of the keep, Soth never once looked back.

*     *

"A honed broadsword, a sturdy shield and a little plate armor is all a
good Knight of Solamnia ever needs in battle," said Caradoc, riding
alongside Soth as they neared the end of the first day on their journey
to Palanthas. They had already discussed life in the keep, prospects of
a good crop, and the charms of certain women Caradoc found

- "interesting." And now they were talking about weaponry, a subject
that would have much attention paid to it when they reached the Knights'
Meeting.

Soth was of a mind that there was more to weapons than simply a
broadsword and shield. While they would always be the chosen weapon of
the Knights of Solamnia for close man-to-man fighting, there were other
weapons in development across the continent that would prove most
effective should there ever be another large-scale war.

"A broadsword is a fine weapon," said Soth. "No doubt about it, but the
great Huma Dragonbane proved that battling certain enemies requires
specialized weaponry." "Perhaps," said Caradoc, obviously not ready to
fully concede his point.

"Take elven weapons for example," Soth continued.

There were still many long hours ahead of them and conversations didn't
necessarily have to end just because the other party was partially in
agreement. "I hear talk that they have developed several types of
arrowheads for use with their crossbows: a narrow spiked head for
piercing armor; a heavy ironwood head for bashing; a razor-sharp Yshaped
head for cutting ropes, banners, legs and arms; a flanged leaf-shaped
head for inflicting the maximum amount of damage; and a "singing" head
that is fitted with a hollow tube that creates a piercing shriek when
its fired."

"Really?" Caradoc's eyes opened wide, perhaps in terror of the weapon,
perhaps in amazement over its ingenuity.

"Yes, a dreadful weapon if there ever was one."

"I would be interested in seeing such a weapon." "Eiwon van Sickle has
told me that there will be examples of them on display in Palanthas.
Demonstrations are scheduled as--"

Soth's words were cut off by a scream.

A woman's scream.

Instinctively, all the knights stopped in their tracks and listened for
the sound again.

Moments later there was another scream, this one more faint and less
sharp than the first. It was coming from somewhere up ahead and to the
left. Soth looked in the direction and saw that the trail crested
slightly in the distance. On the left of the trail the tops of several
trees could be seen peaking over the horizon. The dip on the other side
of the crest had to be fairly deep considering that the valley had given
rise to a small forest in the midst of the plain.

There was yet another scream, this one different from the first two.
Obviously there was more than one woman in peril.

Without a word, Soth gave his mount a kick in the ribs.

The large, black horse shot forward and was quickly running at full
speed toward the forest.

And without even losing a step, the knights were right there with him,
three on each side.

Soth slowed as he came over a crest. Below he could see what looked to
be an encampment. It was a small clearing at the edge of the forest, a
place where many travelers had rested on the road between Palanthas and
Dargaard Keep.

Except these travelers were not resting. Judging by their screams, it
sounded as if they were being tormented.

But by whom?

Soth cut to the left and headed for the edge of the forest in the hopes
that the knights could reach the woods without being seen. After slowing
to assess the situation, he stepped up the pace again. Time appeared to
be of the essence.

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, Soth gestured to Colm Farold to
take two knights around the other side of the woods while Soth and the
three remaining knights went to investigate what was going on in the
clearing.

The forest was small and in no time Soth and his knights had circled
back to the clearing. When the camp came into view, things suddenly
became clearer.

Much clearer.

Whoever had made camp had been ambushed by a small party of ogres. Soth
could see one of the brutes, holding someone to the ground. The screams
coming from the person beneath the ogre sounded muffled, yet the terror
contained within the scream was real.

Soth dismounted and ran to where the ogre wrestled to subdue his victim.
Drawing his sword as he approached, he gave the brute a kick to the ribs
to announce his arrival.

That seemed to get the ogre's attention.

He rolled off his victim and onto the grass. An elderly elf-woman lay on
the grass, eyes wide with fright, body trembling in fear.

The ogre held his midsection tightly and struggled to catch his breath.
When he looked up and saw Soth towering over him, he searched the ground
for his weapon, but it was too far away to be of any use. Quickly he
stood up and prepared to fight Soth with his bare hands.

Soth wasn't about to battle an unarmed opponent with his broadsword, but
then what constituted a fair fight with an ogre? Thankfully, the ogre
settled the matter himself by picking up a sturdy nearby branch, using
it as a pike.

The ogre thrust the branch forward, but Soth was able to deflect the
blows with his shield. Then the ogre decided to sweep the ground with
the branch hoping to knock Soth off his feet. Soth was able to step
quickly enough to avoid the sweeping branch, then managed to go on the
offensive while the ogre was bringing the branch back into position.

Wielding his sword with a single hand, Soth brought it straight down
upon the ogre. But instead of splitting the beast in two, the blow was
blocked by the branch, which only chipped and splintered.

After several near misses for each of the combatants, Soth was able to
execute another overhanded blow. Again the ogre protected himself with
the branch, but this time the blow broke it in two, giving the ogre two
too-short clubs and rendering him once again weaponless.

This time, however, Soth had no qualms about battling an unarmed ogre.
While the ogre was still looking dumbfounded at the broken wood in his
hands, Soth lunged forward running the beast through with his sword.

After crying out in pain, the ogre looked at Soth with a mix of shock
and terror for several long moments before Soth wiped the look from his
face with a backhanded swipe of his shield. The ogre's eyes suddenly
glazed over and turned upward as he fell heavily to the ground.

Dead.

Wasting little time, Soth ran to the elderly elf-woman who had been
helped off the ground by Darin Valcic and Zander Vingus. Apparently, as
Soth had been finishing off the ogre, they'd made sure she wasn't in any
danger, then ventured into the forest in search of more of the foul
beasts.

"Are you all right?" Soth asked, seeing a thin line of blood running
down from her pointed left ear.

"I think so," she nodded, her eyes staring blankly before her. "We're on
pilgrimage to Palanthas," she said. "To become Revered Daughters of
Paladine." A sigh. "We stopped here for the night. We were just about to
begin our prayers when ... when ... they came."

"How many ogres were there?" asked Soth, his voice as calm and soothing
as he could make it under the circumstances.

"Five or six. Maybe more. It was so hard to tell, they all look so much
alike. Hideous, horrible ..." The shock of her ordeal was beginning to
settle in and she began to weep.

Soth had to know one last thing.

"How many in your party?"

"Five. Myself and ... four young maidens." She drew in a sudden gasp in
realization. "Oh merciful Mishakal!

What's become of them?"

Soth knew the woman needed further comfort, but there were others in
greater danger. If there were ogres in the forest, his six knights would
need all the help they could get in finding and defeating them.

"Will you be all right on your own for a short while?"

The question seemed to give the elf-woman reason to compose herself. She
sniffed once and nodded. "Go find the others. I'll be well enough."
"Good," said Soth, rising up and heading into the forest.

* * * *

"There's two of them over there," said Colm Farold, pointing to a small
clearing just through the trees.

"Three," said Wersten Kern, pointing to the right side of the clearing.

"So there are."

Kris Krejigaard came up behind the two knights after circling the
clearing. "It looks as if they've captured a group of elf-maidens. Two
of the women are tied to trees just past those bushes. They appear to be
unharmed, but it's hard to tell from a distance." "Any other ogres?"
asked Farold.

"Not in the immediate area," answered Krejigaard. "I heard some voices
in that direction, but Caradoc was over that way and further along
should be Vallic and Vingus."

"Very well then," nodded Farold. "We'll sweep through the woods in that
direction once we're done here. Did you see any weapons?"

"A few clubs and swords, maybe some daggers.

Nothing out of the ordinary for ogres."

"Anything else?"

"There's a formidable foul stench downwind of them. It burned my eyes
and seared my throat."

Farold turned to Krejigaard and gave a little smile. "All right then.
There are some maidens in distress. Let's save them, shall we?"

The three knights rose up proudly, drew their swords and rushed into the
clearing with a loud, sharp battle cry.

* * * *

There was the sound of running water up ahead. That seemed strange to
Caradoc because he hadn't seen any creeks or streams cutting through the
forest.

He took two more cautious steps forward, using his broadsword to part
the overhanging branches ahead of him.

And then there he was.

An ogre.

Relieving himself against a tree.

The ogre's weapons were lying on the ground several feet away. Caradoc
laughed inwardly at the sight. Such a vulnerable position for an ogre to
find himself in--for any warrior to find himself in for that matter.

He took a few more steps toward the ogre and smacked his hairy behind
with the flat side of his broadsword.

"Ow!" cried the ogre, turning around to see which of his fellows had
been so brazen. When he saw Caradoc he was suddenly in a hurry to finish
relieving himself, but his body didn't seem to be cooperating.

Caradoc couldn't help but laugh at the ugly brute as he struggled to
finish his business while he hurriedly tried to collect his weapons off
the ground.

"If you were at all familiar with the Oath and the Measure," said
Caradoc, a bit of smug confidence to his voice, "you would know that it
is against the Knights of Solamnia's code of ethics to battle an unarmed
opponent in anything other than a fair fight."

The ogre seemed to be comforted to hear this and calmly went about
finishing his business against the tree.

The beast's sudden casual demeanor angered Caradoc.

It was obvious that the ogres had attacked innocent and defenseless
travelers, robbing and looting them, and Paladine only knows what else.
In just a few moments they had turned an otherwise peaceful journey into
a nightmare of horrors. And now the ogre thought he'd be getting a
fighting chance just because the knights happened to be governed by a
strict and chivalric code. Well, it was obvious to Caradoc that the
ogres lived by no such honorable code of conduct, so why should he be
bound by honor in a fight with one of them?

"But since you've probably never even heard of the Oath and the
Measure," Caradoc continued, his voice now edged with a hint of
contempt. "I see no good reason why I should remain bound to it."

Caradoc immediately raised his sword and swung it from left to right,
the sharp cutting edge leading the way.

Almost at once, the ogre's head became separated from its shoulders. It
spun in the air and hit the ground with a thud, its mouth open and its
eyes wide in a look of utter surprise.

A moment later, the ogre's great body fell to the ground like a tree,
covering the upturned head and face with its trunk.

"Stupid savage," said Caradoc, wiping his bloody sword on some of the
leaves around him.

Just then, a loud call came from somewhere to his left.

He headed in that direction, the pointed tip of his sword leading the
way.

* * * *

After leaving the elderly elf-woman behind, Soth quickly came upon two
more ogres, one a black-haired giant standing a head taller than Soth
himself, the other redheaded and somewhat shorter than the first,
perhaps even equal in height to Soth.

The black-haired ogre was holding an elf-maiden in his arms, moving his
great thick-fingered hands over her seemingly lifeless body. If the
elf-maiden was dead, Soth vowed, the ogre's death would be slow and
painful. The red-headed ogre seemed to be asleep on the ground on the
other side of a large log. He was of little concern to Soth.

Soth decided to battle the black-haired ogre first and charged headlong
in that direction.

Seeing Soth approaching, the ogre dropped the elfmaiden onto the soft
layer of humus covering the forest floor. In another second he was up on
both feet, sword before him and ready to fight. The ogre wielded a heavy
clabbard style of sword, a type of weapon most often used by minotaurs,
but just as easily wielded by large and powerful ogres. Soth noticed the
weapon, saw the cutting edge backed with a serrated saw-toothed edge
that could cut through his leather armor with ease, and suddenly became
more cautious. Obviously, these ogres were much fiercer warriors than
the ones they'd encountered in Halton. These were nomadic marauders,
used to fighting--and defeating--an assortment of foes.

That fact was evidenced as Soth realized that this ogre wasn't about to
show Soth any amount of respect or proceed with any caution. He lumbered
forward, swinging his clabbard sword as easily as Soth might wield a
dagger.

Soth held out his sword in an attempt to slow the ogre's progress, but
to no avail. The ogre kept charging, forcing Soth to leap to the side.
He was almost out of the way, but was caught by the ogre's shoulder. The
hard impact sent Soth flying backward through the air. He landed with a
hard thump that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

As Soth clambered to get back to his feet, he felt his clenched hands
gather up soft dirt and leaves from the forest floor. For a moment he
considered blinding the ogre by throwing the mix into his eyes, but
decided the tactic was too foul and very much beneath him. Instead he
found a large rock about half the size of a loaf of bread and picked it
up. Then as the ogre made a second charge, Soth threw the rock at the
ogre's head.

The rock's flight was true, and when it hit the ogre's forehead, the
sound it made reminded Soth of solid rock colliding with solid rock.

Following the blow, the ogre stumbled a few more steps then stopped,
blinking several times as if unsure where he was. Soth let out a slight
sigh of relief and felt pleased with himself at recalling the squire's
second rule. Simply stated it was this: No matter how well-armed or
armored an opponent is, he can still be killed by a simple blow to the
head.

This ogre wasn't dead yet, but he was dazed.

Severely so.

The ogre staggered forward, then back, then forward again. Soth followed
his path for a few moments, then decided he'd had enough. With the ogre
so incapacitated, it was a simple matter to run the beast through with
his sword.

When the fallen ogre was lying still on the ground, Soth moved forward
to take a better look at the creature.

He took one step ... And was sent hurtling forward by a heavy blow to
the small of his back. As Soth tripped over the fallen blackhaired ogre,
he realized he'd forgotten about the redheaded one sleeping on the other
side of the log. When Soth hit the ground, he did his best to roll and
rise up to his feet, but several of his ribs were bruised and any sudden
movements sent pain shooting up through his body.

Yet despite the pain, he somehow made it onto his feet and managed to
turn and face his attacker.

Thankfully the red-headed ogre was the smaller of the two. But even so,
Soth would have been hard-pressed to defeat the ogre at the best of
times. Now, with his bruised, or perhaps even broken ribs, the ogre
would prove to be more than a match for him.

"The forest is full of Knights of Solamnia," said Soth, hoping to scare
the ogre off and avoid having to fight him at close quarters. "If you
turn and run now, you'll be able to leave this forest with your life."

The ogre simply laughed, a loud mocking call that boomed through the
woods. Soth said nothing, hoping the ogre's laugh would rally the
knights around him.

But as the seconds passed, Soth began to get the feeling that he was
alone in this fight. Very well then, he thought, raising his sword to
confront the beast.

The ogre also carried a sword, one that was slightly wider and longer
than Soth's own. Usually this would put Soth at a disadvantage, but it
appeared that the ogre was unable to wield the weapon without the use of
both hands, which might be enough to tip the balance in Soth's favor.

"Only one way to find out," he muttered, moving forward to confront the
beast.

Almost at once their swords came together, clanging and singing as they
banged and scraped against one another with each mighty blow. Soth
quickly realized that it would be impossible for him to match the ogre
blow-for-blow.

Instead he began moving left and right in order to avoid having to
counter as many blows as possible. Soon the ogre began to tire, his
movements becoming wilder and wilder with each progressively sluggish
swing of his sword.

Frustrated, the ogre held his sword before him and charged at Soth, most
likely hoping to get close enough to render their swords useless and to
force them to switch to wrestling and barehanded fighting. Needless to
say, Soth wanted no part of that, given that he was in no condition to
try and kill an ogre with his bare hands.

So, as the ogre came toward him, he ducked down to the ground, falling
on his hands and knees and turning himself into an obstacle too large
for the ogre to avoid.

Soth winced in pain as the ogre's heavy shins slammed into his side, but
the tactic had paid off. Like a tree cut off at its stump, the ogre
began to fall.

By the time the beast hit the ground, Soth was already on his feet
towering over him. The ogre was dazed by the fall and had even cut
himself by falling on top of his own blade. The wound wasn't enough to
keep him down however, and Soth had to quickly see to it that the ogre
would never be getting up again.

He clasped both hands around the upturned hilt of his sword and drove
the point of his blade downward with all his might, through the ogre and
into the soft ground beneath him.

The breath came out of the ogre's body in a whoosh, and then all was
silent.

All except for ... Soth listened closely for the faint sound.

There was a low moan coming from somewhere nearby.

He looked at the elf-maid the dark-haired ogre had laid upon the ground,
but she was nowhere to be seen.

More than likely she had run from the scene as soon as she was able.

Who, or what then, was making the sound?

Something caught Soth's attention, a slight movement in the left corner
of his field of vision. There seemed to be another maiden, this one
fair-haired, lying on the other side of the large fallen log.

Soth pulled his sword from the ground and turned to investigate.

At first he feared the woman dead.

Her face was pressed hard against the forest floor and all he could see
was the dirty blond hair that covered the back of her head and
shoulders. Her body appeared to be still and without breath. For a
moment, Soth cursed the ogres for their deeds, but then came the
familiar moan.

Quickly, Soth leaped over the log and rolled the elfmaiden gently onto
her side. Then he removed his leather gauntlet from his right hand and
wiped the dirt and humus from the maiden's face with the tips of his
fingers.

Even through the dirt and grime that remained on her visage, Soth could
see that she was utterly beautiful.

Anger at the ogres flared within him once more as he thought about what
the ugly brutes had done to this lovely, innocent flower and her
companions.

He removed the gauntlet from his left hand and eased her body off the
ground, sitting her upright against the log. Her body was thin and limp
beneath her flowing pale green and brown robes. Still, despite the fact
that she was barely heavier than a handful of down, Soth had the feeling
she was a very strong woman.

When she was finally sitting comfortably Soth brushed more of her face
clean, marveling at the prominence of her high cheekbones, the delicate
points of her ears, and the softness of her goose-white skin, skin that
had unfortunately been marred in spots by bruises and scrapes.

She was breathing easier now, yet still unconscious. Soth reached down
around his waist and opened up a small pouch. Inside was a mixture of
sharp and pungent herbs that Soth had used many times to awaken knights
who had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head.

He took a pinch of the mixture and held it under the maiden's nose. When
she did not stir, he rubbed the herbs between his fingers, releasing a
sharp new aroma into the air.

Finally she jerked her head away. Slowly, her eyelids began to rise.
After several false starts, her eyes finally fluttered open. They were
hazel in color, indicating to Soth that--considering the color of her
hair and complexion of her skin--the party of elf-maidens on its way to
Palanthas had probably originated in Silvanesti.

She turned her head to look at him ... And Soth felt his heart begin to
pound beneath his breastplate like that of a squire sneaking a peek
through the window of a lady's bedchamber.

She was strikingly attractive, her beauty perhaps even rivaling that of
Lady Korinne. But more than simple beauty was the air of nobility and
grace she exuded, a quality that refused to be dulled, even by coming
into contact with the rough and jagged edges of the ogres.

"Are you all right?" Soth asked softly, a little surprised to find his
mouth dry as dust.

"Yes," she said, the word sounding slightly melodic, as if it had been
plucked from the middle of a verse. "I think so. Who ... who are you?"

Soth eased one knee onto the ground and placed his arms on the other. He
slipped off his helm and said, "I'm Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep,
Knight of the Rose."

She smiled at him and said, "You saved my life."

Soth opened his mouth to speak, but words would not come.

He gently helped the elf-maiden to her feet and began to lead her
through the forest toward the clearing where he expected to find both
the knights and maidens gathered.

After a few steps it became apparent that the elf-maid had twisted her
ankle during her struggle with the ogre. It was at least sprained,
perhaps even broken.

"Allow me," offered Soth, scooping the woman up in his arms and carrying
her the rest of the way.

"Oh," the elf-maid said as she was lifted off the ground.

"It's easier this way," said Soth, trying to make light of the close
contact which might or might not have been necessary.

If she had been an ugly old maid, would he have offered to carry her?
Probably, but he would have done so a lot less enthusiastically.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself," said the maiden, her voice sounding
to his ears like that of a songbird.

"I was curious as to your name."

"It's Isolde," she said, putting her arms around his neck to steady
herself as he stepped over a fallen tree. "Isolde Denissa."

"A lovely name," said Soth. "For a lovely elf."

She smiled at that. "So you're charming as well as brave, strong and
handsome." She rested her head against his shoulder.

Soth felt warm all over and found himself firming up his grip even
though there was no danger of dropping the lithe young elf.

As he stepped into the clearing however, the feeling of warmth vanished
as he came under the scrutiny of his fellow knights and the elderly
elf-woman.

Did she look too comfortable in his arms? Could his sudden--he tried to
think of the right word--affection for her be so easily discerned from
the look on his face?

"Is she all right?" asked the elf-woman, who had undoubtedly been
charged with the care of the maidens.

The question jarred Soth's train of thought. Of course, with her eyes
closed and her head resting upon his shoulder, she appeared to be near
death in their eyes. "She's been injured, but"--he paused for a moment
as a wild thought leaped forward in his mind, quelling all other
thoughts--"it's nothing the healer won't be able to mend." He put her
down on the ground to reunite her with her fellow travelers.

"The healer?" asked Colm Farold, looking the elf-maiden over. "She
doesn't look to be in need of Istvan."

"On the outside no, but she appears to have suffered"-- he hesitated
slightly--"internal injuries which might be best left to the healer to
remedy. She may very well heal on her own, but it's always best to be
sure."

Farold gave Soth a curious look, but dared not contradict his lord
twice. "Very well, milord. We can always attend the Knights' Meeting
next year."

Soth raised his hand dramatically. "No," he said. "These elf-maidens
were on a holy pilgrimage to Palanthas. It is your duty as a Knight of
Solamnia to see they arrive there without further harm." "Our duty?"
asked Farold. "You say that as if you won't be coming with us."

"I won't," said Soth. "I will be escorting the injured elf maid back to
Dargaard Keep while you and the others continue on to Palanthas. Deliver
them safely so that they may pledge themselves to Paladine, father of
all that is good. Then, attend the Knights' Meeting as heroes worthy of
the title Knights of Solamnia."

Farold smiled with pride and gratitude. Arriving in Palanthas escorting
a group of maidens they'd rescued from ogre bandits would make the
knights the talk of the entire meeting, a rare opportunity for the
knights to be regarded with the highest esteem by their peers. "Thank
you, milord."

Soth shrugged his shoulders. "After she is in the care of the healer,
I'll once again set out for Palanthas and join you there. You must
extend my apologies to the grand master, and conduct yourselves with the
utmost honor and decorum in my absence." "I will, milord," said Farold.
"We will."

Soth nodded, then turned to inform the maidens of their plans.

"My knights will be escorting you the rest of the way to Palanthas," he
told the elderly elf-woman. "Meanwhile, I will be taking Isolde Denissa
back to Dargaard Keep where she can receive proper aid at the hands of
the keep's healer."

The elf-woman tilted her head back and looked at Soth down the length of
her nose. "I've looked her over and her injuries seem to be minor. I
think she's healthy enough to continue on with us to Palanthas, but
thank you very much for your most generous offer."

The elf-woman was probably several hundred years old and had likely seen
a great many things in her lifetime.

She had acquired great wisdom through her years of experience and for
that reason alone deserved Soth's respect. Nevertheless, he couldn't
allow her to meddle with his plan.

"It's not an offer," he said plainly.

She looked at him with narrowing eyes. "You mentioned Dargaard Keep
before. Who are you exactly?"

Soth realized that their first meeting had been somewhat rushed and
they'd never properly introduced themselves.

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

A mixture of shock, surprise and embarrassment traversed the old woman's
face at the mention of his name.

Apparently she had heard of Soth at some point in her long life.

"Excuse me, milord," she said, using the word even though she was not
required to do so. "I was dubious of your intentions, but now that I
know who you are I have no doubt that Isolde will be safe in your care."
She finished her words by lowering her head slightly, an unmistakable
sign of respect.

"You have my word as a Knight of Solamnia," said Soth.

"No harm will come to her."

  * * *

The ride back to Dargaard Keep was taken at a slow pace as the bump and
jostle of a hard ride might further injure the young elf-maid.

For much of the time, Soth trailed Isolde by a horse length to the left.
As they rode slowly across the plains he watched her ride, her long thin
legs draped over the horse and sometimes made bare by a sudden gust of
wind. The wind also played through her hair, making her dirty blond
locks dance like flames in the light of the sun.

And even though Soth had never imagined that he'd be so enamored by an
elf--in fact he'd never been particularly fond of the race to begin
with--he somehow found himself becoming attracted to the maiden. Perhaps
it was her mix of youthful innocence and womanly beauty, or perhaps it
was the look of awe in her eyes when she spoke and looked at him.
Whatever it was, he was enchanted by her. Of that, there could be no
doubt.

"I'm becoming weary," said Isolde. "Can we stop for a little while?"

Soth scanned the surrounding landscape. It was barren and flat and the
sun beat down on them mercilessly. He would have liked to have stopped
by a stand of trees or a rock formation, but he wasn't about to suggest
that Isolde continue on if she didn't feel up to it.

"All right, we can stop here. But not for long."

"Thank you, milord."

"You may call me Loren."

"Very well ... Loren."

They stopped on the trail and Isolde waited until Soth had dismounted
and could assist her from her mount. He reached up, put his hands about
her waist and eased her off the horse. Before her feet touched the
ground Isolde put her arms around Soth's neck and held him close.

"I wanted to thank you for all you've done."

Soth was surprised by how tightly Isolde held onto him, or perhaps
surprised that she was so at ease when there were only inches between
them.

"It was nothing, really," said Soth, holding Isolde aloft because she
didn't seem in any hurry to get her feet onto the ground. "I did nothing
that any Knight of Solamnia wouldn't have done in a similar
circumstance."

"Perhaps, but it wasn't just any Knight of Solamnia who saved me, it was
you."

"But--"

His words were cut off by a kiss.

A deep soulful kiss, more passionate than mere thanks would require.

Soth hesitated at first, but quickly felt himself giving in to the
moment until he returned the kiss with as much urgency as it was given.

It was a long time before Isolde's feet touched the ground.

*   *

When Dargaard Keep was well within their sights and he knew he would be
seen from the highest of the keep's towers, Soth felt the warm summer's
breeze touch the back of his neck like a cold, cold hand.

It had been so easy to kiss Isolde.

It had felt so natural. It was natural, too, that they ride together on
his horse, leaving hers to trail riderless behind them.

But now with the red rose of Dargaard Keep blooming on the horizon, his
thoughts turned to Lady Korinne and he felt a churning in the pit of his
stomach, almost as if he were going to be sick.

Did his attraction to Isolde mean that his love for Lady Korinne was
waning? After all. Lady Korinne was herself an attractive woman whose
beauty was known throughout Ansalon. Then why had he so easily forgotten
about her upon seeing Isolde? What was it about the elf-maid that would
prompt him to forget his lovely, loyal and most-cherished wife? What did
Isolde possess that Korinne did not?

He couldn't think of anything.

He'd merely been attracted by her appearance. And while she was
stunningly attractive, her looks were no reason for him to lose his head
and start acting like a lovesick young boy. But while there wasn't
anything wrong with lusting after beautiful young women, elf or
otherwise, (he was married, not dead, after all) it was another matter
entirely if he chose to act upon his emotions.

The kiss had been an aberration, he thought, vowing to have Isolde's
injuries taken care of, then send her off to Palanthas with an escort so
that she could rejoin her fellow maidens.

"Almost there," he said.

Isolde craned her neck to see the top of the keep over Soth's shoulder.
"Where are your chambers?" she asked.

"The second window from the top on the left side of the tower," he said.

"And that's where you sleep?"

Soth considered telling her that it was the room where both he and Lady
Korinne slept, but for some reason he did not. Instead, he merely said,
"Yes."

*   *   *

"Lord Soth returns!"

"Milord approaches!"

The loud shouts echoed down from the tower's two top observation posts
almost at the same time.

Immediately upon hearing the words. Lady Korinne felt her heart drop
like a stone into the pit of her stomach.

Something had to be wrong.

The Knights' Meeting was to have lasted seven days and her husband was
not to have returned for at least ten, or perhaps for even two weeks,
yet here he was returning just two days after leaving. He hadn't even
reached Palanthas.

A lump of worry gathered in Korinne's throat as she hurried to the
window of her bedchamber. The room was high up in the keep with a view
that stretched all the way to the Vingaard River. If the sky was clear,
she'd likely be able to see her husband's approach.

She scanned the horizon and picked out two horses far off in the
distance making their way toward the keep.

There appeared to be two riders, but she couldn't be sure.

One was obviously Lord Soth, his size, shape and the deep rose-red color
of his leather armor unmistakable even at this distance. The other
traveler was much harder to identify.

Clearly the rider was not a knight, being too small and slender to
belong to any of the orders.

At one point, the two horses turned slightly to one side.

At once, Korinne saw that the trailing horse was riderless, while the
second rider sat directly behind Lord Soth.

She shifted her gaze back onto her husband. From the way he was riding,
it was obvious that he was unharmed.

She was relieved but the lump of worry was still knotted in her throat.
In fact, it seemed to have grown larger.

If he hadn't been injured, then why was he returning so early, and in
the company of a woman? A woman who rode with her arms wrapped tightly
around the waist of Korinne's husband.

BOOK TWO.

KNIGHT'S Fall Chapter 11.

By the time Soth reached Dargaard Keep, dozens of people had gathered
just inside the gate to receive him. There was a buzz traveling through
the crowd and speculation ran rampant with theories ranging from an
ambush and slaughter on the trail, to the discovery of a lost lone
traveler brought back to the keep for her own safety.

When Soth and Isolde entered the keep, something of a stunned silence
came over those gathered as they recognized the maiden's beauty to be
quite extraordinary.

Soth stopped his horse and dismounted. "Where is Istvan?" he shouted,
his voice tinged with just a hint of urgency.

"Here I am, milord!" said the elderly healer. In his prime Istvan had
been a short man of stocky build with a full head of thick brown hair.
Now, after more than twenty years of service as healer, first for all of
Knightlund and now within Dargaard Keep, his dark brown mane had turned
white and flowed down over his shoulders like tattered white threads. He
was also thinner and scraggier--

some might even say emaciated--than he'd been in his youth, yet despite
his lack of bulk, he was still quite nimble, especially considering his
age.

But nimblest of all was his mind, not only in areas of healing, in which
he had no rival, but also in areas of keep politics. No one understood
the internal machinations of the keep and the knighthood better than he.
For that reason he had managed to offend no one in all his years of
service and had maintained his position for decades despite changes in
rule and shifts in allegiance.

Soth helped Isolde down from her pillion. When her feet touched the
ground, much of her weight was placed on her injured ankle causing her
to stumble. Soth made an overly dramatic gesture to help steady her and
turned to Istvan with a look of grave concern.

"She was injured in an ogre raid on her traveling party.

She's in desperate need of your attention."

Isolde grimaced at the pain in her ankle.

Istvan looked the elf-maid over, quickly inspecting her wounds and using
what he saw to make a general assessment of the injuries he could not
see.

From the look on his face it was obvious to Soth that the healer thought
her injuries to be minor, nothing that a few days rest wouldn't cure.

He glanced up at the lord of the keep with a look that asked, "Why are
you wasting my time with such superficial cuts and bruises?"

Soth merely stared at him, knowing his steel-gray eyes could be as
piercing as daggers when he needed them to be.

In a moment, without a word being spoken, Istvan understood.

"Quickly," shouted Istvan to his assistants. "Take her to my chambers.
Prepare the comfrey and yarrow." He clapped his hands together twice and
his assistants swung into action, carefully escorting the elf-maid away.

Then Istvan turned to face Soth. "She will recover, milord," he said,
his head bowed. "I give you my word."

Soth nodded to the healer. "Well done."

"Thank you, milord," Istvan answered, turning in haste to follow the
elf-maid as she was carried to his chambers.

Soth glanced around, noticing that all eyes were on Isolde.

Including those of Lady Korinne.

Lady Korinne watched the elf-maid being taken away to the healer's
chambers then turned to look at her husband.

She was surprised to find his gaze lingering on the doorway the elf-maid
had just been taken through, but dismissed it as his simply being
concerned with the woman's well-being.

She walked over to him. "Milord," she said when there was still some
distance between them. Then as she came closer, "Loren," she whispered.

Soth turned, smiled upon seeing his wife then greeted her with an
embrace and a kiss. The kiss was less passionate than Korinne would have
liked, but he had been traveling for some time and was probably weary
from the journey.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered plainly.

"What happened?"

Soth took a deep breath and began explaining how the knights came upon
the encampment, rescued the elfmaids and routed the offending ogres. As
they walked through the keep, several other people including many
knights followed, all keen on hearing the details of his foreshortened
journey.

"And her?" Korinne asked when Soth was done with his story, nodding her
head in the direction of the healer's chambers.

"Who? Isolde?" said Soth.

Korinne inhaled a slight gasp at her husband's mention of the elf-maid's
name. There was something too familiar, too personal about it. "Yes,"
she said. "Isolde."

"I found her face down on the ground. She'd been savaged by an ogre, or
at least the attempt had been made.

According to her account of what happened, she put up a respectable
fight. And her wounds bear her out."

Korinne suddenly felt foolish for doubting her husband's intentions.
Although the elf-maid was quite beautiful and she was instinctively
jealous of her youthful appearance--what human woman wouldn't be?--
Korinne concluded that her husband had acted as any Knight of Solamnia
would have in accordance to the rules of conduct set forth within the
Oath and the Measure. It was in his power to help the elf, so he did so.
There was nothing more to it than that. "The poor creature," she said at
last, her voice edged with pity.

"Indeed," answered Soth.

For some reason, the word sent a chill down Korinne's spine.

  * * * *

"Lord Soth," said the healer. "You may see him now."

Soth rose up off the bench, his legs made stiff from the hours he'd sat
there waiting.

Waiting for the birth of his son.

He entered the room. It smelled quite foul, much like a battlefield,
tinged with the scent of blood and other bodily fluids. The healer's
assistants were busy changing the sheets on the lower half of the bed
while the child itself was being cleaned behind a curtain in a shadowy
corner of the room. His wife lay still on the bed, sleeping after what
was no doubt an exhausting ordeal.

He waited.

His body hummed with anticipation.

At last the healer approached, a small bundle in his arms.

He handed the bundle to Soth and the knight rumbled with it as if all
his fingers had been replaced by thumbs. When he had the child steady,
he raised a hand and lifted the part of the blanket covering the child's
face.

* * * *

Soth awoke with a start, his body shivering despite the fact that
several warm blankets were covering him. He looked to his left and was
grateful to see that his abrupt awakening hadn't disturbed his wife. She
was still sleeping as soundly as ever.

He closed his eyes and reflected upon the dream, then did his best to
block it from his mind. He hadn't been bothered by his dreams in months.
This one, he decided, had been an aberration. He would not dwell on this
dream as he had done with the others in the past.

He opened his eyes once more and slid out from beneath the covers,
leaving Korinne to sleep because it was still well before dawn. Then he
got dressed and headed down to the keep's kitchen for a quick bite to
eat.

He was met there by Meyer Seril who would be joining him on the journey
back to the Knights' Meeting. Although it was unlikely that Soth would
run into trouble on the way--running into the band of ogres had been an
extraordinary circumstance as it was--he preferred to have company on
such an extended trip. If the Council didn't like the fact that he'd
brought an extra uninvited knight to the event, then they would have to
send them both back to Dargaard Keep.

After eating their fill of fruit, eggs and cheese, Soth sent Seril to
prepare the horses for the journey while he went to the healer's
chambers to check on the condition of the elf-maid.

When he reached the healer's chambers he stepped quietly up to the door
and was about to knock when the door suddenly opened up before him.

Istvan was standing there, his right index finger pressed against his
lips suggesting that Soth should keep quiet.

"She's asleep," he said in a whisper.

Soth nodded. "How is she?"

"She suffered bruises to her body, mainly to the extremities, but I
suspect there were also injuries on the inside, ones which I could not
see but nevertheless require an extended period of healing."

Soth smiled. His knights suffered such injuries all of the time and were
required to get along with their daily routines as best they could while
they healed. Obviously, Istvan was making a big deal about the
elf-maid's condition, certainly more than was required for her to make a
complete recovery.

"You've done well, Istvan," said Soth. "I look forward to seeing her
completely healed upon my return."

Istvan looked at Soth for several seconds, running his bony fingers over
the coarse white stubble of his beard.

And then his face brightened, as if the gist of what Soth was saying had
just dawned upon him.

"I understand completely, milord."

"Good," said Soth. "Is there anything you are lacking that I may be able
to pick up for you in Palanthas?"

Istvan smiled, then stroked his chin once again. "Let me think," he
said. "I've heard they have ground blue hyssop for sale in some of the
finer shops in Palanthas." "Is this a rare herb?" asked Soth.

Istvan nodded. "One of the few I have done without."

"Then you shall have some."

Soth quickly left Istvan and joined Meyer Seril just inside the keep's
gate.

"All ready?"

"Yes milord, except for ..." Seril gestured behind Soth with a nod.

Soth turned. Lady Korinne was standing there, a deep rose-red robe
wrapped around her nightdress. Soth went to her.

"You've come to see me off," he said.

"Yes."

"You didn't have to, but the gesture is greatly appreciated."

Korinne smiled.

Soth kissed her goodbye.

* * * *

As she watched her husband ride out through the keep's gate and over the
drawbridge, Lady Korinne pulled her robe more tightly around her body.
Although it was the middle of Holmswelt, the mornings inside Dargaard
Keep were still quite chilly.

She contemplated the good-bye kiss her husband had given her. Like the
morning, it had been cold and passionless, a kiss one might expect from
a brother, cousin, or uncle.

Was her husband's love for her waning? The thought made her shiver.

As she watched him descend onto the plain heading for Palanthas, she
realized that for the first time since their marriage, Soth had left
without once asking her if she was with child.

Apparently he'd meant what he'd said about not speaking of children
until she was sure.

With that thought, the morning air seemed even colder.

Once Soth and Meyer Seril were out of sight of the keep, Lady Korinne
postponed returning to her chambers and made a trip to the healer's
chambers instead.

When she arrived she knocked lightly on the wooden door, making sure to
be careful not to disturb anyone who was not yet awake. After a short
wait she knocked again.

When there was still no answer, she tried the door. Much to her
surprise, it opened.

Korinne looked down the hall in both directions before entering the
chambers. Inside the sunlight that was usually shining brightly through
the windows at this time of day was blocked by fabrics that had been
draped over the openings. The deep reds and greens of the fabrics gave
the room a soft and comfortable glow.

Korinne waited just inside the door for several moments, waiting for
Istvan to appear from the shadows as he was sometimes known to do. But
as time passed, it became obvious that Istvan was not here. Perhaps he
had gone for breakfast, or was preparing some mixture.

Whatever the reason, he'd left the elf-maid alone.

It was too good an opportunity to miss. Korinne moved deeper into
Istvan's chamber and searched for the elfmaid.

She was sleeping on a bed at the far end of the room, covered to the
neck by a light-colored blanket. Korinne moved closer in order to get a
better look at the maid.

When she was standing next to the bed, Korinne felt her heart sinking
like a stone in a river. The elf-maid was beautiful, a stunning example
of the sort of elven beauty that had made the race famous throughout
Krynn for their grace, comeliness and elegance.

How could a human woman compare to a creature possessing such fair skin
and hair, such a lithe and supple form? How could a human woman compare
herself to an elf-maid?

Korinne thought of that for a moment.

And let out a little laugh.

How foolish could she be? How could she compare herself to an elf-maid?
There was no comparison. Surely her husband was aware of that fact.
Korinne was still young and it would be many years before her own beauty
began to fade. And even if Lord Soth found the elf-maid attractive, she
was still his wife and according to the Oath and the Measure that was a
bond that was as highly honored and respected as the one linking him to
the knighthood.

What's more, Korinne was in the prime of her life, ready and more than
willing to produce an heir to the muchheralded Soth family name. It
would make their union complete, draw her even closer to him.

Ready and willing, she thought.

But unable.

The worry that had fled her heart and mind just seconds earlier, came
back with a vengeance.

She turned to leave the healer's chambers, her hand groping the wall in
order to keep herself steady as she walked.

Chapter 12.

The city of Istar seemed barren.

Lifeless.

The elderly mage moved through the streets, his thoughts wandering
aimlessly, much in the same way as did his feet.

When the Kingpriest first introduced The Edict of Thought Control it had
sounded like such a good idea.

Indeed, how better to prevent evil deeds than to put an end to evil
thoughts?

How better to stop a rose from blooming than to nip it in the bud?

What had sounded good in theory had turned into a nightmare in practice.
Since the introduction of the edict, children had lost their parents,
wives had lost their husbands, and husbands had lost their wives.

And for what?

For evil thoughts that might or might not have manifested themselves
into evil deeds. The edict lacked any consideration for the faculties of
human reason and self control. It was based on the belief that human
beings were little more than animals who acted upon every impulse and
instinct without consideration for any of the consequences of their
actions.

Such was simply not the case.

People were basically good at heart. Sometimes the evil side of them
came to the surface, but that was just a part of being human.

But despite all these thoughts, the mage continued to practice his craft
on behalf of the Kingpriest in the hopes that the Kingpriest would
eventually realize the damage his edict was doing to the people of
Istar. Once that happened, surely he would revoke the edict and life
would return to something resembling normalcy.

In the meantime, he continued to read minds.

Up ahead in the middle of the street a mother was scolding her child for
dropping a bag of fruit onto the ground.

This, after the child had assured his mother that he would not let the
bag touch the ground until they reached home.

The mage read the mind of the mother. There were no evil thoughts there,
just a proper reprimand and instruction so that a similar incident
wouldn't be happening again any time soon. She finished her talk with a
single slap on the boy's behind, sort of as an exclamation mark to her
impromptu lecture.

And then the mage read the mind of the child. To his surprise, the young
boy's mind was full of evil thoughts toward his mother.

I hate you ... And I'm going to hurt you like you hurt me ... Then
you'll be sorry.

Evil thoughts to be sure.

But they were the thoughts of a child, an innocent who understood
nothing about what he thought or did.

What then, would constitute suitable punishment for such thoughts?

If the mage reported the boy to the Kingpriest, the lad might be
sentenced to death. That had been the punishment prescribed to adults
who'd had similar thoughts.

But, to execute a child?

The thought made the mage sick to his stomach.

He watched the mother and child continue on down the street as if the
incident had already been forgotten.

He read both their minds once more.

There was love there. Strong love. All the boy's evil thoughts were
gone.

His evil thoughts had been ... harmless.

The mage stood in the middle of the street thinking about what he should
do. By order of the Kingpriest, he was bound to report all the evil
thoughts he had read. But, he couldn't bring himself to report the boy
and have him taken from his mother, a woman who obviously loved him more
than anything else in the world.

The Edict of Thought Control was unworkable.

The realization left the mage with only one option. He decided he would
take it.

He turned his back on the mother and child, and began walking west.

When he reached the outskirts of the city, he turned south, headed for
Silvanesti.

To start a new life.

Chapter 13.

"no matter how many times I've seen it," said Caradoc, "each time I lay
my eyes upon it after some time away, I'm always in awe of its beauty."

"Indeed," said Soth. "It is a beautiful sight."

Ahead on the eastern horizon, the deep red outline of Dargaard Keep
stood out like a single perfect rose. After ten days at the Knights'
Meeting in Palanthas (Soth attended six of those days) and an uneventful
journey home, the knights were all eager to return to the keep and
relate what they'd learned to their fellow knights.

But for Soth, there were other reasons which made him look forward to
his return. For one there was his wife.

Dear, sweet Korinne. After such a long time away, perhaps she had some
news for him. Even though Soth had vowed not to speak of such matters
until she truly was with child, he couldn't stop himself from
considering the possibility.

To have a son ... Or perhaps even a daughter. He would teach her to
fight, make her strong, the first female Knight of Solamnia.

He shook his head, realizing his dreams were getting the better of him.

And then there was Isolde. She would be fully healed by now, her
stunning beauty completely restored. There was no real reason for him to
contact her--she was merely just another person in the keep now, one of
many--but nevertheless, he wanted desperately to see her, to speak to
her, perhaps even to ... touch her.

"The elf-maid you brought back to the keep," Caradoc said idly.

Mention of the maid startled Soth, bringing him back to the plains. Even
though he was sure Caradoc's speaking of Isolde had been a coincidence,
the uncanniness of it made Soth shiver. "You mean Isolde?"

"Is that her name?"

"Yes."

"Well, Is-olde," Caradoc had some trouble pronouncing the name, "is
certainly a beautiful woman, elf or otherwise." "Yes," said Soth, his
voice noncommittal. "That she is."

"Might make a man a fine lover."

Soth turned to look at Caradoc. His seneschal was staring blankly out
over the horizon, obviously speaking of Isolde with a sort of
wistfulness that he might speak about a well-made sword or a fine bottle
of wine.

Soth turned his gaze forward and tried to match Caradoc's pensive sort
of look with a similar expression of his own. "That she would," he said,
trying to say the words musingly.

When the knights entered the keep they were greeted by dozens of people,
most of whom were family and friends.

Soth dismounted and was quickly greeted by Lady Korinne who had come to
see him dressed in some of her finest red and purple robes.

Despite his mind being clouded with other thoughts, Soth had missed
Korinne deeply, and when they came together he took her up in his arms
and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

"Did you miss me?" Korinne asked.

"Of course."

"And I you."

Soth smiled. "Then perhaps we should get away from here."

"I thought you might never ask."

Soth gave the reins of his mount to a squire and walked arm-in-arm with
Lady Korinne into the tower leading to their chambers. When they
arrived, Korinne opened the door and Soth picked her up and carried her
inside, closing the door behind him with a backward kick of his foot.

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down upon it. As Soth began
to undress, he noticed something different about Korinne's smile. It was
as if she were trying to contain herself, holding back some great secret
that was mere seconds from bursting from her lips.

"What?" asked Soth. "What is it?"

"I'm glad to see you," answered Korinne. "Is that so wrong?" Already her
smile was starting to wane.

"Well, from the look on your face I thought you might have something to
tell me."

"Like what?"

"That you're with child, of course."

"Oh."

There was a long silence between them.

"Well, are you?" asked Soth.

Another extended period of silence.

Korinne let out a sigh. "No."

Soth let out a long sigh of his own. He was disappointed, especially
because he knew it had been entirely his own fault. He had told her not
to mention word of a child until she knew for certain and now he had
been the one to ask the question, destroying what should have been a
wonderful moment between them.

Korinne rolled onto her side on the bed and began to weep softly.

Soth didn't know what to do. He had slain ogres, defeated whole armies,
and performed a hundred other heroic deeds, but here and now he found
himself wishing he were somewhere else, somewhere far away.

He was also angered by her inability to bear him a child, but
instinctively knew that harsh words had no place in the room at this
particular moment.

Korinne's weeping had grown into open sobs.

After another moment's hesitation, Soth crawled onto the bed and placed
a comforting hand on Korinne's shoulder.

It did nothing to staunch her cries, but it still felt as if it were the
right thing to do. He placed an arm around her and held her close.

* * * *

That night after supper, Soth excused himself from the table on the
pretense of wanting to stretch his legs and reacquaint himself with the
keep.

After leaving the dining hall, he made a series of twists and turns that
brought him to the maids' quarters where Isolde was now staying. He
checked in the larger chambers but found the room to be empty except for
eight neatly prepared beds, each with its own trundle. He checked a few
of the adjoining rooms and finally heard soft music coming from one of
the rooms down the hall. He tracked the sound until he found Isolde in
the music room playing a harp.

Soth looked up and down the hallway, then stepped into the room, leaving
the door behind him slightly ajar so as to not to make any noise that
would disrupt Isolde's sweet, sweet music.

He sat down on a stool to her right and listened.

Almost at once he recognized the tune as "The Silver

Moon's Passing," an elven song of mourning. As he listened he could
almost hear the emotions in the notes, could almost picture the swaying
grasslands of the plains, the love of a young man, and the loss felt by
his young bride upon his death.

She finished playing the song without realizing that Soth was in the
room. When the last note faded Soth began clapping.

Isolde turned, startled to find him there.

"That was beautiful," he said.

"I didn't realize I had an audience."

"Would it have mattered?"

"No, I suppose not."

"You play very well."

She almost blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, milord. Istvan said I
could keep his harp as long as I liked."

"From the way he plays the instrument, I wouldn't be surprised if he
were glad to be rid of it."

Isolde laughed, giving Soth reason to smile. Her face was so bright, so
alive.

There was a lengthy pause between them. Finally Isolde said, "But you
didn't come here to hear me play the harp now did you?"

"No."

She looked at him curiously. "Why did you come here?"

Soth thought about it, and realized he didn't have a good answer to the
question. Why did I come here? he wondered. "I wanted to make sure you
were all right." A pause. "And perhaps I need someone to talk to."

"Talk? About what?"

Again Soth hesitated. "Family matters."

"I would think your wife would be the best one with which to discuss
such things."

"Perhaps, but what if she is the topic to be discussed?" "I see," said
Isolde, her eyes darting somewhat nervously.

"But shouldn't you speak of such things to one who is closer to you? A
family member, perhaps even Istvan?"

"No, I couldn't. This is something that is best discussed with someone
from outside of Dargaard Keep.

Someone ... like yourself." This was true. If he let it be known to
others close to him that Korinne was unable to conceive, news of it
would sweep through the keep in a matter of days, and across Solamnia in
mere weeks. For some reason, he instinctively knew that Isolde would
speak to no one about the matter, that his secrets would be her secrets.

"All right, then," she said warmly. "Talk to me."

Soth began explaining how, despite all their efforts, he and Korinne had
been unable to produce a child. Then he began talking of the pain and
disappointment he felt each time she told him of their failure, not just
for himself but for her as well. He told her too, how it was beginning
to affect their relationship.

Isolde listened in silence, providing him with little response other
than a slight nod of her head, or an arch of her brow.

The more he spoke, the more Soth realized that perhaps he had come here
looking for someone to talk to. He was indeed feeling better, his
frustration over the matter somewhat lessened by the mere act of telling
someone else about the problem.

And it was a problem.

He was Loren Soth, Knight of the Rose, Master of Dargaard Keep and Lord
of Knightlund. He should be the father of many, many distinguished
Knights of Solamnia.

The Soth family name was a great one with a hallowed history and a grand
future, but if he failed to produce even a single heir, the Soth name
would die along with him. For a Knight of Solamnia, it was a problem
greater than any that could be created by an opponent on a battlefield.
And in fact, many times Soth had wished this problem could be dealt with
by the sword. But alas, it could not. This was a problem that could be
remedied only by the good graces of Paladine, or the benevolence of
Mishakal.

* * *

"Take these up to the maids' chambers," said the head laundress, a
large, stout woman with arms as thick as those of some men. "And these
go to the Lord's chambers."

The maid chewed her bottom lip to stop herself from saying unkind words
to the laundress. Reminding her not to mix up the stacks was an insult
to her intelligence because there was little chance that anyone could
ever mistake the two. The stack which had grayed slightly and had been
repaired by numerous patches was obviously for the maids' chambers while
the newer, whiter linens were surely reserved for the lord and lady of
the keep. Even a child could tell the two apart.

Mirrel Martlin, had been a maid in Dargaard Keep for the past year and a
half and she was growing tired of being a maid in every sense of the
word. While she didn't mind doing the work that was required of her--she
was a maid after all--she knew she was destined for better things. Many
nights she dreamed of being one of milady's personal maids, or Mishakal
be praised, a lady-in-waiting.

When she told others of her hopes and aspirations, they simply dismissed
them as being the wild fantasies of a young girl. But she remained
undaunted by this, knowing in her heart that these aspirations were not
fantasies, but dreams. Dreams, she knew, sometimes came true.

Maybe she would be the lucky one.

"Now don't get them confused," said the laundress, already moving onto
another matter.

Again Mirrel chewed her bottom lip. "No ma'am."

The laundress didn't answer.

Mirrel carried the linens through the keep and reached the maids'
chambers. She heard voices coming from down the hall and wished she had
someone to talk to. A friendly presence might make even the task of
putting away the linens seem almost pleasant.

When she was done, she picked up the linens destined for the lord's
chambers and walked down the hall in the direction from which she heard
voices. She considered entering the room and perhaps greeting the maids
inside when she saw that the door was closed.

Or at least, almost closed but for a tiny crack.

Mirrel could now clearly hear the voices coming from inside the room,
one female, the other male.

This was curious because men were rarely seen in this part of the keep.
She peered through the crack and was surprised to see the lord of the
keep sitting next to the elf maid he'd rescued on the way to Palanthas.

* * * * *

Isolde listened quietly, waiting patiently until Soth had finished. When
he was done, she placed her hand on his and stroked it gently. "My good
lord," she said. "You are a paragon of virtue, but patience seems to be
one virtue you are lacking."

Soth smiled at this.

"Paladine does not abandon those such as yourself who uphold the laws of
Good and abjure the forces of Evil. If your heart is pure, the Father of
Good will bless you with a child when he deems the time to be right."

Soth nodded at the truth in her words.

"Speaking of Paladine," said Isolde softly. "I'm feeling much better now
and I thought that I might be strong enough to resume my journey to
Palanthas ..." Her voice trailed off, as if she were asking a question
instead of making a statement.

"So soon?" asked Soth.

"I've been here for weeks. I really must think about rejoining my
friends."

"But you can't," Soth said quickly, his voice walking a fine line
between commanding and pleading.

"And why not?" asked Isolde, a thin smile on her face.

"I'm better now."

"I need you here," said Soth. A pause. "To talk to."

Isolde's smile widened. She leaned forward and kissed Soth on the mouth.

The move startled Soth, and the touch of her sweet lips on his
immediately rekindled his feelings of passion, an emotion which--up
until this moment--he'd been able to keep subdued.

Without hesitation, he pulled the maid closer, and returned her kiss.

*   * * *

Realizing she was spying on the two, but too curious to pull herself
from the door, Mirrel watched them talk.

Although she could not make out their words, their conversation seemed
pleasant enough, even if the lord did seem a bit troubled by something.

And then it happened.

The elf-maid kissed Lord Soth.

Lord Soth returned her kiss.

Mirrel slapped a hand over her mouth to cover the sound of her gasp.

Then she looked again, clutching the linen tightly against her chest.
After watching the two kiss for several moments she moved away from the
door and stood with her back to the wall. She remembered the linen in
her arms--linen destined for Lord Soth's chambers.

She would take them there.

And as she set off, she wondered whether she might run into Lady Korinne
along the way.

  * * * *

"This isn't right," said Soth, breaking off the kiss.

Isolde looked away. "No, I suppose it isn't." She sighed and placed her
hands delicately in her lap.

For several long moments they simply sat in silence, their eyes avoiding
each other as the full realization of what they'd just done settled into
their minds.

"You have a wife," said Isolde, sliding a hand onto Soth's well-muscled
shoulder. "Just because she's yet to have a child doesn't mean she never
will."

Soth nodded.

"Perhaps it would be best if I left soon." She raised her head and
looked at him, as if to gauge his reaction.

She was right. He knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to let her
go. Not now. Even though he knew it was wrong, he still wanted her. And,
truth be told, he really couldn't be sure that she didn't want him, too.
He wasn't sure if her words matched her true feelings. "No," he said at
last.

"But ..." she said, her eyes wide and innocent as that of a child.

"I'd still like to visit you from time to time," he said. "I need you
... to talk to."

"Of course," said Isolde with a smile, her eyes narrowing almost
seductively. "I will stay a while longer, milord--if you need me."

* * * *

When Mirrel arrived at the lord's chambers she took a deep breath and
knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again, this time a
faint voice responded. "Yes."

"Linens milady." "Come in," she said. "The door is open."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Mirrel opened the door and entered
the room. She'd been inside it only once before and was still somewhat
unfamiliar with its layout.

On one wall there was a large fireplace that had a small fire alight in
its hearth, giving off only a small amount of light and heat. One side
of the room was covered by a fanciful design of connected crowns, swords
and roses. In the center of the design was the rough likeness of a
knight who Mirrel guessed was Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Knights of
Solamnia. At the other end of the room was a small chair upon which sat
Lady Korinne. She was busy reading something, an old volume by the looks
of it.

She stood in the center of the room not knowing where to place the
linens. Lady Korinne did not look up from her reading, and Mirrel was
left with no other choice but to interrupt her. "Beg pardon, milady."

At last Korinne looked up and smiled.

"Where might I put these linens?"

"I believe there's room in the trunk at the foot of the bed."

Mirrel nodded and went to the trunk. There was more than enough room
inside. She placed the linens neatly inside and closed the trunk easily.

Lady Korinne resumed her reading, but after a few moments, she realized
that Mirrel hadn't yet left the room.

She looked up at her. "Yes?"

Mirrel felt her heart hammering against her chest like a smith's mallet
upon an anvil. Her mouth seemed parched and she struggled to make a
sound. "I, uh ..."

Lady Korinne turned to face the maid and smiled. "Is there something on
your mind, something you wanted to tell me?"

Mirrel nodded, thankful that Lady Korinne was so perceptive.

"Don't be nervous," said Korinne. "I'm the lady of the keep, not
Mishakal." She gestured at the chair across from her. "Have a seat."

Mirrel moved slowly across the room and eased herself gently into the
chair. It wasn't that she was nervous about telling Lady Korinne what
she saw, for her eyes had not deceived her. No, the reason she was
hesitant was that she was unsure about what Lady Korinne's reaction to
it might be. For all Mirrel knew, she might refuse to believe her,
banish her from the keep, maybe even from all of Solamnia. Nevertheless,
she'd seen what she had seen and she owed it to the lady of the keep to
make her aware of it--just as any one of Lord Soth's knights would be
bound to inform him of some curious occurrences within the keep.

"Now then, what is it?" asked Lady Korinne.

"Before delivering the linens here, I dropped off some others to the
maids' chambers."

"Yes."

"In one of the rooms, the elf-maid looked as if she had been playing a
harp that Istvan had lent her."

"I've heard she's quite a talented musician, especially on that
instrument."

Mirrel took a deep breath.

"What is it?"

"Lord Soth was in the room with her."

The color drained from Lady Korinne's face and she suddenly looked quite
pale. She placed a hand on the desk in front of her to steady herself.

"Are you all right, milady?"

"What happened?" asked Lady Korinne.

Mirrel shook her head. "Perhaps I shouldn't say. I don't want to
dishonor milord."

Lady Korinne breathed deeply, composing herself. "Tell me," she said,
her voice steady and surprisingly strong, perhaps even a little bit
angry. "And I promise you your words will never leave this room." Mirrel
nodded, leaned forward and told her.

* * * * *

The night was cool, but Lady Korinne hardly felt its chill. She walked
through the rows of the keep's small garden, her eyes open but seeing
nothing through the emotional storm cloud that hung over her like a
pall. It was made up of many different parts: rage, disappointment,
sorrow, fear.

When the maid first told her what she had seen, Korinne's first reaction
was to deny it. And in fact she'd tried to tell herself that it simply
was not possible, that the great Lord Soth, Knight of the Rose, was
bound by the Oath and the Measure and would surely never betray her in
such a way. But as the maid continued to speak, Korinne knew in her
heart that she was telling the truth.

She had no proof, but evidence of Soth's waning love was always there,
in the way he talked to her, in the way they kissed, in the way ... She
was losing him ... to an elf-maid.

But maybe it wasn't too late. Mirrel had seen the two kissing. Kissing,
that was all. He was still her husband.

Perhaps it wasn't too late to pull him back, catch him before he strayed
too far.

It was worth a try. And one thing was for certain, she wasn't about to
lose him without a fight. And she knew just what form the fight would
take.

"You called for me, milady?"

Korinne turned and saw the young man named Engel Silversword. He had
been sent to Dargaard Keep from Palanthas by Korinne's mother. He had
high hopes of someday joining the Knights of Solamnia. Due to the fact
that he had ties to Palanthas and the Gladria family, his loyalty to her
would be assured, and since he had yet to become the squire of any
knight, she could arrange to have him sponsored in a matter of days. If
he served her well, she might even be persuaded to speak as a witness to
his honor.

"Yes, I did," said Korinne. She sat down on a bench. The young man moved
closer to her but remained standing at a distance of two paces. "I have
a task for you."

"Anything, milady."

Korinne nodded.

"I wish you to travel to Vingaard Keep."

The squire immediately stood straighter as he realized this task was one
of significant importance.

"When you arrive at Vingaard Keep, I wish you to contact my cousin. Lord
Eward Irvine, Knight of the Sword. When you see him you will tell him
that his cousin, Lady Korinne has asked that he call Lord Soth to
Vingaard Keep on a matter of urgent business and that he keep him there
for no less than two days. If he doubts you in any way, you may give him
this as proof that I have sent you." She handed him a locket emblazoned
with the Korinne family emblem.

Engel nodded. "Yes, milady."

Korinne rolled forward on the bench and spoke in a lower voice. "As you
might have guessed, this is not something I wish others to know about."

"Of course not, milady."

"And if you speak of this to anyone I will deny everything.

No one will believe your word against mine." Her words trailed off and
she was silent for a long while, allowing the magnitude of what she'd
said to settle in.

"I understand," Engel said. "I will not fail you."

"I know you won't."

Korinne's faith in the young man prompted him to stick out his chest
with pride.

"You will leave tonight," she said. "Under cover of darkness. Now get
out of the garden before someone sees you."

The young man was gone in seconds.

Korinne arched her neck and looked up into the sky.

Solinari and Lunitari hung full in the sky like a pair of watchful eyes,
one a bright and shimmering white, the other tinged with a slight
crimson, the color of blood.

Chapter 14.

Istvan sat hunched over his mixing table, cropping pinches of blue
hyssop into a small pile of powdered comfrey. According to the journals
he'd read, the hybrid mixture was supposed to do wonders for easing the
pains in joints brought on by the passage of time. Old age.

He drew his mixing stick in circles through the reddishblue powder until
it was a deep-purple hue. Then he scooped it off the table with a flat
stone and gently shook the mix into a small leather pouch. After closing
one end of the pouch, he tied it around his waist so the mixture would
always be close-at-hand.

He'd been taking the powder for several days now and couldn't yet decide
whether it was working or not. He would continue the treatment for two
more days. If his pain didn't lessen by then he'd end the experiment and
dismiss the exercise as being nothing more than the wishful thinking of
an old fool.

There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" asked Istvan.

"Parry Roslin," said a voice from the other side of the door.

Istvan's eyebrows arched. Roslin was the captain of the keep's guards.
At this time of night, Roslin's visit could only have to deal with
official business. "Come in." "Beg your pardon, healer," said the large
and stout, redhaired guard. '"There are four elf-maids at the gate
wanting entrance to the keep."

Istvan nodded thoughtfully. "So why are you telling me this?"

"Milord and milady have retired for the night."

"And what of knights Caradoc and Farold?"

"The women say they are here only to see Isolde and no other. They say
they're here to bring her back to Silvanesti."

Istvan looked at the guard a moment. "I see."

"And because the elf-maid is in your charge I thought I'd bring the
matter to your attention first."

Istvan was silent, considering the situation. He glanced down at the
mixing table and saw the speckles of blue hyssop that had fallen in the
cracks between the wood, blue hyssop on which Lord Soth had spent a tidy
sum.

"You've done well," Istvan said at last.

Roslin smiled, as he'd probably had some doubts about whether he was
doing the right thing coming to see Istvan first.

"Let them in, but take them directly to the elf-maid.

Keep a guard posted throughout their visit, which is to be conducted in
private. When they are done, escort them to the gatehouse. If Isolde is
with them, call me. If not, send them on their way and deal with me no
more."

Roslin nodded, and left the room.

Istvan got up from his chair, suddenly feeling much older and stiffer
than when he'd first sat down.

* *   * *

"It's good to see you, Isolde," said one of the elf-maids.

"And you too," answered Isolde. "All of you."

"We missed you in Palanthas," said another of the maids. "It was
unfortunate that you couldn't have been there with us. You would have
liked it there."

Isolde made no comment.

The maids chatted for a while before the elderly elfwoman joined in.
"So," she said. "Now that you have recovered from your injuries we can
all return to Silvanesti the same as we left--as a party of five." "I
won't be returning to Silvanesti," said Isolde.

The other three maidens had been chatting between themselves while the
elf-woman spoke, but now upon hearing the response from Isolde they grew
quiet and the room had suddenly filled with tension.

"What did you say?" asked the elf-woman.

The silence in the room was complete.

"I said I won't be returning to Silvanesti. I have decided to remain
here in the keep. For a little while longer at least."

The elf-woman rubbed a thin bony finger across her wrinkled forehead.
Obviously, Isolde's decision didn't rest lightly on the woman's
shoulders.

"Leave us alone for a moment," said the woman.

Without hesitation, the three elf-maids rose up and left the room
leaving Isolde and the woman alone.

When the door was closed, the woman spoke. "You can't be serious."

"But I am."

"What possible place does an elf-maid have in the keep of a Knight of
Solamnia?"

Isolde didn't have an answer to the question, or at least didn't have an
answer she felt like relating to the elderly elf.

"Have they put you to work?"

"Not really. I help the healer in his herb garden, but it's not really
work."

"Do you sing for milord?"

"No."

"Do you do any entertaining in the keep?"

"I play the healer's harp, but it's more for my own pleasure than
anything else."

"Are you tutoring children?"

"No."

She looked at Isolde curiously. "Have you been made one of milady's
maids?"

"No."

"Then why must you remain here when you belong in Silvanesti?"

"Milord needs me ... to talk to."

The old elf-woman stared at Isolde with narrowed eyes for a long, long
time. Finally she said, "Have you been intimate with the lord of the
keep?"

All she had done was hold him in her arms and comfort him. At least that
was all she had done in the beginning.

Then she had kissed him, and then ... She felt in her heart that she had
done nothing wrong.

She had merely provided some comfort to a soul in pain, but she knew she
couldn't tell that to the elf-woman with any amount of conviction. So,
instead of answering the question, she merely lowered her head in
silence.

The woman drew in a long breath. "May the great god Paladine take pity
on your soul."

* * * *

"This seems so sudden," said Korinne. "Must you go away again?"

"I'm afraid so, Korinne," said Soth. "Lord Irvine says my help is needed
at Vingaard Keep on a matter of great urgency. Exactly what the problem
is he did not say, but judging by the tone of his message, I think it's
best that I depart as soon as possible."

"Very well, then," Korinne sighed, feigning disappointment.

"If you must go, then Paladine be with you."

"Thank you, my love."

Korinne nodded and did her best to smile. "Give Lord Irvine my regards."

"I will."

*   *   *

The midday sun was high over the western plain as Lady Korinne stood at
the window of her bedchamber waiting for her husband to leave the keep.

In the distance, four figures draped in robes were heading due south
along the foot of the Dargaard Mountains after having left the keep some
time ago. They were riding slowly, three of them high in the saddle, one
hunched over from what was most likely old age.

It wasn't uncommon for people to come and go from the keep without her
knowledge--it was impossible for Lady Korinne, and Lord Soth for that
matter, to know about everything that went on within the keep's
walls--but for some reason Korinne's curiosity was piqued by this party
of four. They didn't seem to be merchants or mercenaries and Dargaard
Keep was hardly ever visited by wizards, priests or rogues.

A curiosity to be sure.

Suddenly, the outside of the keep was alive with the sound of hoof-beats
on the wooden drawbridge spanning the chasm. A second later Lord Soth
rode out of the keep followed by six knights. They quickly headed east,
the trail to Vingaard Keep taking them nowhere near the other four
travelers.

Korinne watched Soth and the knights for a long time, not moving from
the window until they were nearly out of sight. Before turning away, she
glanced southward. The four riders heading that way were also gone.

She turned away from the window.

"They're gone, Mirrel," she said to her newest lady-in-waiting.

"Begin making preparations for this evening." "Yes, milady," said
Mirrel.

"We'll set out after dark."

  * * *

The moons had been hanging over the keep for several hours before
Korinne heard the faint knock upon her door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Mirrel."

Korinne hurried to the door and opened it. Mirrel stood there draped in
a dark cloak, a garment which would make her all but invisible in the
darkness. She had a second dark cloak for Korinne. "Put it on," she
said, then added, "please, milady."

Korinne slipped into the robe and together the two women padded through
the keep, taking the less-traveled routes on their way to the gatehouse.

To Korinne's surprise, the gate was unattended, the portcullis slightly
raised. "Where are the guards?"

"I arranged for them to be away from their posts for several minutes.
They should likewise be gone when we return."

"But how?"

"Don't underestimate the feminine charms of--"

"Never mind," said Korinne, cutting off Mirrel's whispers.

"I've already decided I don't want to know."

"Perhaps it would be best that way, milady."

Korinne looked at the maid, amazed by her ingenuity, efficiency and her
steadfast loyalty. Despite the fact that Mirrel had been the one to
inform her of Lord Soth's indiscretions, Korinne was beginning to look
upon their meeting as a blessing. Although she'd been lady of the keep,
Korinne had sorely been missing a close and loyal friend.

Now she had one.

They snuck through the gap left by the raised portcullis and crossed the
drawbridge quickly, trying to stay out of the faint light of the moons.
When they had reached some cover outside the keep, Korinne turned to
Mirrel. "What now?"

'"This way," said Mirrel. "There are horses waiting."

Again, Korinne was impressed by Mirrel's thoroughness, and for the first
time since she'd thought of this wild scheme, she believed it might
actually have a chance of succeeding.

They reached the horses, a pair of big and powerful black stallions.

They mounted the horses and without a word being spoken between them,
rode off into the night.

Chapter 15.

"The power to know the thoughts within the mines of men, women and
children ..." mused the Kingpriest as he sat upon his throne at one end
of the main hall of the temple.

"And to put an end to those evil thoughts," he continued, "before
they've even made a single step onto Evil's dark and twisted road. Is
that not a power that had previously been reserved for the gods?"

A lone acolyte sat by the Kingpriest's side. The young man seemed unsure
whether the question had been a rhetorical one or not. After a few
seconds of silence, he spoke up. "Indeed it is, your worship."

The Kingpriest nodded.

The acolyte sighed, relieved he had answered the Kingpriest correctly.

"And to sit in sole judgment of people's evil thoughts, considering the
severity of those thoughts and punishing them accordingly, even with
death. Is that not the kind of power that had, up until now, been
reserved for the Gods of Good such as Paladine, Mishakal, Majere,
Kirijolith, Habbakuk, Branchala and Solinari? Even the Gods of Evil:
Takhisis, Sargonnas, Morgion, and the Gods of Neutrality: Gilean, Simon,
and Reorx have been know to possess such powers."

A pause.

"Yes, your worship," said the acolyte.

"But now, it is not only the gods who have that power. I have it as
well. And if I, the Kingpriest of Istar, have godlike powers, then am I
still a mortal being or have I ascended to the next level? Beyond mortal
and toward immortal?"

Another pause.

"Ascended to the next level, your worship," said the acolyte, the
intonation making his words sound more like a question than a statement.

"Yes," hissed the Kingpriest. "If I have acquired the powers of the
gods, then, by rights, I must be a god myself."

The hall was deathly silent.

The acolyte looked at the Kingpriest, nodded his head slightly and said
in a trembling voice. "Yes, your worship."

"Then I will ascend to the heavens and take my place at the right hand
of Paladine. The gods will greet me with open arms and thank me for
spreading virtue and goodness across the four corners of Krynn."

The Kingpriest's eyes were looking upward, glinting with a sort of
madness, as if he were looking through the stone ceiling of the temple
and into the starry night sky above it.

The Kingpriest stood up. "If I have the power of a god, then I will
become a god!"

The acolyte was silent, looking strangely at the Kingpriest.

"A god," he repeated breathily, as if considering the possibilities.

The acolyte lowered his head like one doomed. "Yes, your worship."

Chapter 16

Together, Mirrel and Lady Korinne rode south for over An hour before
turning east and riding into the northern lip of a deep rift in the
Dargaard Mountains called the Soul's Wound.

Korinne had heard stories about the inhabitants of these mountains ever
since she was a child. Although she'd always felt it hard to believe the
tales while living in the comfort of her parent's home in Palanthas,
such was not the case after she'd moved into Dargaard Keep.

Everyone in the keep from the knights to the laundresses, from the
squires to the cooks, could tell stories of the lost folk who supposedly
lived in the most impenetrable valleys or on the most treacherous
mountainsides of the Dargaard range. The lizard-like Bakali, the
otherworldly Huldrefolk, the birdlike Kyrie, and the bat-like
Shadowpeople. All were reported to live deep within these mountains
although none of these creatures had been reliably witnessed for
hundreds of years. Still, that fact did little to alter people's beliefs
in them and the interior of the mountain range slowly grew to be a
darkly mystical place where those who were ill-suited to blend into
Solamnic society found the perfect place in which to live out their
lives in peace.

However, that didn't mean there was never any contact between the two
worlds.

When Korinne first thought of making this trip she had only a vague idea
of where she might find help. Mirrel had proved helpful in this regard,
securing directions and ensuring they wouldn't be turned away once they
arrived at their destination.

Their goal was a small stone cottage at the foot of a snowcapped
mountain. The cottage was half-buried in earth and looked as if the
mountainside had crept up to it over the past few centuries and would
eventually engulf the structure with the passage of the next several
hundred years.

There was a faint yellow light shining in one of the cottage's two
exposed windows. Considering the time of night, the light was a good
sign that whoever lived within was expecting company.

The two women slowed their mounts as they approached the tiny cottage,
content to walk the last little bit after what had been an especially
long and hard ride.

They secured their horses, the beasts seeming infinitely grateful for
the rest, and approached the cottage's front door.

The wooden door was slightly ajar, but Mirrel stopped Lady Korinne from
pushing it open and suggested that she knock first.

Korinne nodded at this, reminding herself that her status as lady of the
keep would carry little weight in the home of a hedge witch. She pulled
her robe back from her right wrist and knocked on the door with three
sharp raps of her knuckles.

There was no answer.

"Maybe we should go," suggested Mirrel.

Korinne knocked again.

"Open is the door," said a gravel-throated voice. "Enter if you wish."

Korinne looked at Mirrel and the younger woman nodded.

Then Korinne pushed the door open and entered the cottage, Mirrel close
behind her.

The ceiling of the cottage was low, and the two women had to stoop in
order to move about without bumping their heads.

The hedge witch was sitting in an old wooden chair by a fire. The chair
was oddly shaped and of a strange design that looked as if it could only
be comfortable to the witch herself. Thankfully, there were two other
chairs by the fire--chairs shaped for more normal postures. The witch
extended a gnarled, bony hand, inviting the two women to take their
seats. Korinne and Mirrel quickly sat down, grateful--like their
horses--for the respite.

In the flickering light of the fire, Korinne tried to make out the
witch's features. Other than her being human, Korinne could not discern
any of the witch's finer features with any clarity.

As if the witch had read her mind, she waved a hand in the direction of
the fire and the flames suddenly burned hotter. The inside of the
cottage became brighter and Korinne could easily make out the crag-like
texture of the witch's skin, now brought out in high relief by the
contrast of light and shadow on her face. There were also several moles
under the witch's chin which seemed to be in a different position each
time Korinne glanced at them--a trick of the light, she surmised. And
finally, she looked at the witch's eyes. They were dark, almost black,
even in the bright light of the fire.

Korinne was not repulsed. Compared to what she'd heard in tales of the
lost folk, this witch was almost attractive.

"Have you seen enough?" said the witch, waving her hand at the fire once
more. The flames suddenly died down and the inside of the cottage was
once again dim. "Now, why is it that you've come? What is it that you
want?"

Korinne's heart was racing. It felt wrong to be here, but she'd come
this far and she refused to give up now. "My name is Korinne Soth, Lady
Korinne--" "Who you are, I know," said the witch, cutting off Korinne's
words. "What you want, I know." She smiled on one side of her mouth,
showing the women several of her dirty brown teeth. "But I want to hear
you tell me anyway."

Korinne paused. She'd spoken about her troubles only with her husband
and Mirrel. No one else. But she was surprised to learn that she had no
qualms about telling this hedge witch that she could not conceive.
Somehow, she knew that what was spoken here tonight would never leave
the stone walls of the cottage.

"I am barren," said Korinne, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Despite all my efforts, I have not been able to conceive." "No?" the
witch asked playfully. "How do you know that you are the one unable to
conceive?"

Korinne was silent.

"How do you know that the problem does not lie with the great Lord Soth,
Knight of the Rose?"

Korinne gasped. She'd never even considered such a thing.

"How do you know," continued the witch, "that Soth's seed is not to
blame?"

Korinne felt compelled to answer. If she didn't the witch might continue
to ask the same disturbing question. "I don't," she said, a slight
tremor in her voice. "I don't."

"Then perhaps you should come back when you know."

"How could I find out?"

The witch let out a small, dry laugh. "Take a lover, or wait until your
mighty lord produces a bastard."

"No," whispered Korinne. "I couldn't."

"I see. So what you want is not for me to make you fertile, but to give
you a child."

Korinne was silent. She turned to Mirrel for some help, but the young
maid seemed as befuddled as Korinne was.

Finally Korinne simply said, "Yes." "Well, I cannot," said the witch.

"Why not?"

"What you are asking me to do is very dangerous magic. Even if I did try
and help, you wouldn't know if I was successful for many months. And by
then it would be too late."

"Too late? For what?"

"To undo," whispered the witch. "If my magic works well, then everyone
is happy. But if it does not, people might--" "You must help me,"
Korinne said, getting out of her chair and moving closer to the witch
until she was crouched at her feet.

Mirrel remained in her chair.

"And why must I help you?"

Korinne thought about it for a few moments, but couldn't think of much
of an answer. She lowered her head and remained silent.

"Eh?" asked the witch. "What was that? Speak up dear, I cannot hear
you."

Korinne felt her face getting flushed. There was no reason for the witch
to talk to her in this way. No other reason than because she could talk
to her this way under the circumstances.

Korinne let out a sigh, finally conceding that she was in no position to
make demands upon the witch.

When the silence became prolonged, the witch spoke again. "So, tell me
again why I should help you."

Korinne thought about it again. Why should this witch, someone she
barely knew existed until two days ago, help her. Lady Korinne Soth of
Dargaard Keep?

"Because I love my husband dearly and want nothing more than to make him
happy."

"Ah ..." The witch's scraggly face brightened. "Sure of that, are you?
Sure that a child would make Soth happy?"

Korinne considered it. Even though she couldn't be absolutely sure, she
answered the question with as much conviction as she could muster.
"Yes."

The witch nodded. "Then I might give you what you ask for after all."

"Might?" asked Korinne harshly. She was about to say something else when
she thought better of it.

"Yes, might." The witch paused. "There is still the little matter of a
payment for my services." "I can pay you any amount you desire," said
Korinne confidently. "Anything you want, tell me what it is and it will
be yours."

The witch's laugh sounded like boots sliding over a sand-sprinkled
floor. "Look around you. Does it appear that I treasure material
wealth?"

Korinne and Mirrel glanced around the cottage. It was obvious that the
witch cared little for material things.

Korinne's previously soaring heart fell into a deep dark chasm. If the
witch wanted no material wealth, then what type of payment could she
make? "What is it that you want?" The witch smiled at the question. "I
want," she said, "the one thing you value most."

Korinne thought about it. What was it that she valued most? It only took
her a second to realize the answer was a simple one. She wanted a child
more than anything else in the world. Soth wanted one as well. The value
of a child in their lives was immeasurable. Priceless! But, how could
she give up a child as payment when she couldn't have one in the first
place? She decided to pose the question to the witch.

"How can I give you what I value most, when that thing is exactly what
I've come here to ask you for?"

The witch suddenly smiled and for a moment it was almost as if there was
a quality of beauty about her.

Korinne nervously smiled along with her.

"A very wise answer," said the witch. "The right answer."

Korinne let out a long sigh. So did Mirrel.

"If a child is the one thing you value most, then perhaps you deserve to
have one." The witch got up from her chair.

For the first time Korinne saw the misshapen curve of her back, legs and
arms. She wondered for a moment

:

about what might have caused such a deformity, but quickly decided it
was probably best she didn't know.

"I will give you a child," said the witch. "But I must tell you again
that the magic you ask of me is very black and very, very dangerous."

Korinne chewed her bottom lip, afraid that if she spoke she might end up
changing her mind.

"And I warn you," said the witch, "the success of the spell will depend
entirely on the virtue of your husband, on the virtue of Lord Soth."

Lady Korinne thought about it. Mirrel had seen Soth and the elf-maid
kiss, nothing more. How much harm could there be in that? And if she
didn't do this, there was a chance they might do more than kiss the next
time they met. And besides all of that, Soth was a Knight of Solamnia, a
Knight of the Rose, a noble and honorable man whose life was dictated by
the writings of Vinas Solamnus. The Oath and the Measure. This one small
indiscretion with an elf-maid would hardly put a black mark on Soth's
soul after years of living honorably in accordance with the strict
knight's code. If such was the case, the witch's stipulation would be a
blessing more than a curse. "He's a good man," Korinne said at last.

"Are you so sure?" asked the witch.

"Yes." There was a slight tremor in Korinne's voice, as if her
conviction was losing some of its strength.

"You love him, don't you?"

"Y-yes."

The witch moved closer. "Perhaps you should fear him instead. There are
dark branches in his family tree and it is only a matter of time before
the darkness infects the entire trunk, all the way down to the roots."

Korinne's heart was pounding. She swallowed and reassured herself that
the witch was merely playing games, trying to scare her.

"You still want the child, do you not?" asked the witch.

Korinne nodded.

"Then you shall have it."

The witch's eyes rolled back in their sockets as she placed a hand on
Korinne's belly. The gnarled hand felt warm, almost hot, against her
skin. The fire flared and the witch's lips mouthed an unfamiliar string
of syllables and words.

Korinne felt a strange tingle inside her, the blossoming of something
straining to make room for itself. Her eyes began to feel heavy with
sleep. She tried to keep them open, but eventually was forced to give up
the fight as all of her energy and strength was being drawn by the new
thing inside her.

She could feel it.

Growing.

* * * * *

"Milady, wake up!"

Korinne felt a gentle pat against her cheek. "What?

What is it?"

"We must be going. It will be light in a few hours."

Korinne's eyes fluttered open. Mirrel was there standing over her. She
glanced around, and slowly recalled where she was. "Have I been asleep
long?"

"Only a short while."

"Then we best be leaving." She tried to get up, but couldn't. Her limbs
ached with exhaustion. Mirrel hooked an arm around her body and helped
her to her feet.

As the two women made their way to the door, Korinne turned in the
direction of the old witch and said, "Thank you."

And suddenly the cottage was filled with the sound of the witch's raspy
laugh. "Don't thank me," she said. "You might want to curse me later."

The words made Korinne shiver.

Chapter 17.

"How was your trip, my dear Loren?" Lady Korinne asked as both she and
her husband retired to their chambers following his return from Vingaard
Keep.

"Strange," said Lord Soth, a sour expression on his face.

"Oh, how so?" said Korinne, barely able to hold back a smile. She lay
back on the bed and raised a closed hand over her mouth.

"Well, Eward Irvine is a fine and experienced knight. In fact he's been
a Knight of Solamnia longer than I have."

Soth paused to remove his boots. "Yet he called me with such haste to
Vingaard Keep that I had thought there must be something happening there
of grave importance, an insurrection or a rebellion of knights."

"But that wasn't the case?" Korinne prodded.

"No, far from it," said Soth. "When I got there he failed to greet me,
then kept me waiting for hours. And then, once we finally met, he asked
me to help him plan strategies for mock-battles between detachments of
knights."

Korinne was silent, chewing her bottom lip to help keep her good news
from spilling prematurely from her mouth.

"That's a task for pages and squires," said Soth. "Well, at least one
thing is for certain. I'll be thinking twice before I answer the call of
your cousin again."

He turned around to see Korinne lying on the bed, smiling gleefully.

"What?" asked Soth. "What is it?" He looked himself over to see if there
was anything amiss with his clothing.

"Do you recall that you didn't want me to speak of children until I was
sure I was with child?"

Soth thought about it. "Yes."

"Well, I am now sure."

Soth's mouth opened slightly and stayed that way for a long while. Then
he swallowed and asked, "You are absolutely sure?"

Korinne couldn't blame him for asking. She had raised his hopes on the
subject far too many times. In answer she simply nodded, then smiled.

"Paladine be praised!" Soth shouted, crawling onto the bed next to
Korinne. He took her in his arms and hugged her.

Korinne felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"My wife is with child," he whispered. "This is wonderful news." Then he
kissed her.

As her lips touched his, Korinne began to cry. And despite the joy of
the moment, she couldn't help but taste the bitterness in the tears as
they rolled down her face.

* * * * *

"A celebration!" said Lord Soth later that day. "In the grand hall.
Everyone in the keep shall attend." "What's the occasion, milord?" asked
the keep's cook, an elderly yet still quite stout man named Pitte who
had been preparing meals for three generations of Soths. He had been
called into the grand hall along with several of the keep's other key
stewards.

"I --he paused and began again--"I am going to be a father."

The assembled men and women inhaled a collective gasp.

A broad grin broke across Soth's face as he finally had the long-awaited
pleasure of telling someone--anyone-- of his good fortune.

Lady Korinne stood by his side, holding his hand tightly and grinning
from ear to ear.

A little distance away on Korinne's right stood Mirrel, who was also
smiling broadly.

"Wonderful news, milord."

"A grand reason to celebrate." "I'll prepare a grand feast, milord,"
said Pitte, obviously happy to soon be serving a fourth generation Soth.
"It's a little early for the harvests to come in, but I can whip up a
grand banquet with stews and soups, pastries and pies."

Soth nodded. "I'm sure it will be a fine meal, Pitte.

You've never served us anything but."

Pitte smiled, revealing the few remaining teeth in his head. "Thank you,
milord. When would you like this feast to occur?"

"As soon as possible, of course."

"Is two days soon enough?" "Yes, wonderful," said Soth.

"Then excuse me, milord. I have many things to prepare."

The stout old man bowed his head and turned, then scurried off to the
kitchen. "Now," said Soth. "As for the rest of you ..."

* * * *

Pitte had been good to his word and despite the short notice, he and his
staff had done an exemplary job preparing the feast. In addition to the
many varieties of meats and cheeses available, Pitte had also prepared
many different colored dishes using vegetable dyes such as parsley for
green, saffron for yellow and sandalwood for red. It was a small detail,
but one that made the celebration all the more festive.

But best of all, was the celebratory cake that Pitte had baked in the
shape of a cradle, frosted with white sugar and gilded with decorative
roses.

Soth was grateful to the old man and couldn't help but think that even
before his child was born, it was already being treated as something
special by those within the keep. Whether it was a boy or a girl, its
childhood would be filled with countless happy days.

The feast lasted for hours, the wine and ale flowing like water into the
glasses of the gathered knights. One sign that they had drunk far more
than was proper was their terrible renditions of songs praising the
virtue of Vinas Solamnus. The songs droned on, one word sliding into the
next until mercifully the sound would end with a raucous round of
applause. Soth was grateful when Caradoc was persuaded to stand before
the high table and offer the parents-to-be a token gift on behalf of the
knights.

"My lord," said Caradoc, nodding first to Lord Soth, and then to his
fellow knights. "I know it is perhaps too early for gifts for the unborn
child, but the joy I and my fellow knights felt upon hearing the good
news was far too great to let pass without even a token gesture."

He nodded at a pair of pages at the entrance to the hall.

"So, as a symbol of our heartfelt happiness over the news that a young
Soth will soon be roaming the keep, the knights and I would like you to
have these gifts"--he gestured to the items being carted in by the
pages--"so that your offspring will grow up to be as great a knight as
its father has already become."

The pages put down the gifts. Inside two crates were finely crafted
wooden swords, shields and intricately tooled leather armor, all sized
to fit the hands and body of a growing child through each of its stages
of development.

Soth was speechless. Many of these items were family heirlooms, passed
on from generation to generation. They would be just as at home on a
mantle as in the hands of a child.

Soth rose from his seat, bowed concession to Caradoc and then to the
rest of the knights. "I thank you, all. And a toast to the Knights of
Solamnia, the greatest collection of uncles a child could ever wish
for."

The knights erupted in a loud cheer, then the room was silent as
everyone drank to the toast.

Soth leaned down, turned to Korinne and said, "I must thank them all
individually."

"After such a gesture," Korinne said, shaking her head, "it's the least
you can do."

Soth left the high table and immediately made his way to Caradoc.

"Korinne and I were touched by your gesture, Caradoc," Lord Soth said as
he slapped a hand onto the shoulder of his seneschal.

"We've had them collected for months, milord," Caradoc answered. "We
were simply waiting for the right time to present them."

"And waiting ..." "And waiting ..." said a few of the other knights.

"Well, nevertheless, your thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated."

Caradoc waved his hand in a gesture that suggested that Soth should
think nothing of it. Then the knight took a sip of wine.

Soth pulled away from the table of knights and was heading for an
adjoining table when he ran into Isolde.

She had been wandering the hall playing her harp for those attending the
banquet. But from the look on her face, Soth knew she had something on
her mind other than making good music.

"I wish to speak to you," she said.

Soth realized he was in an awkward position. To the rest of the people
within the keep, Isolde was a special guest.

And, because of her elven heritage, to some others she was a great
curiosity. Either way, she hardly mingled without being noticed. If Soth
spoke to her now, dozens of eyes would be watching.

"Very well," said Soth, stepping to one side of the hall where he could
lean casually against a wall while the elf maid talked to him.

"First of all, let me congratulate you and Lady Korinne on the good
news."

Soth smiled politely. "Thank you."

Isolde glanced around the room, careful to make it look as if this was
nothing but a simple meeting of two friends.

"I wanted to tell you that since Korinne is with child and your problems
seem to be over, perhaps it might be better if I returned to
Silvanesti." She strummed her harp, tuning several of the strings after
each pass of her hand.

Soth knew she was right. There was no place for her in the keep,
especially now. But as he looked into her eyes and saw the overwhelming
beauty of her face, he knew he wasn't ready to let her go, or perhaps he
wasn't able.

Whatever the reason, she had to remain close to him.

"No!" said Soth in something of a harsh whisper even though the noise
within the hall was more than enough to drown out any part of their
conversation. "You must stay ..." His voice trailed off, then suddenly
gained strength. "Please."

Isolde shook her head. "What am I to do here? Istvan is wasting his own
valuable time trying to find things for me to do." "You can stay," Soth
said, searching his mind for any reason at all for her to remain.
"Perhaps you might be able to help Korinne with the child when it
comes."

"Oh, I doubt that very much. Lady Korinne wouldn't want me anywhere near
her child."

"She has no reason to dislike you."

Perhaps not, but let us just say I have a feeling that I am not one of
her favorite inhabitants of the keep."

Soth looked aside and accepted the congratulations of a woman who passed
by; then he turned back to Isolde.

"I want you," he said, "to stay." He paused, considering his words. "As
Korinne becomes heavy with child, I will be needing you more than ever."
He looked at her for the longest time, letting his steel blue eyes
pierce right through to her heart.

"All right," she said at last, her voice edged with a sort of doomed
reluctance. "I will stay."

Soth's head arched back and he smiled as if Isolde had just said
something tremendously funny. "Wonderful!" he said, shaking her hand. He
raised the volume of his voice so those close-by could hear him. "Yes,
indeed. I am a very happy man."

Korinne had watched as Soth moved through the hall, greeting people and
gladly shaking hands. He seemed happier than she'd ever seen him before,
and she was satisfied that she had made him that way.

But then Soth had turned away from Caradoc and found himself
face-to-face with the elf-maid Isolde.

The sight had suddenly made Korinne feel sick to her stomach.

She had watched motionless and silent as her husband and the elf-maid
talked to one another on the other side of the hall. There was nothing
out of the ordinary in their mannerisms, nothing that might suggest they
were anything more than friends. Of course, there was a bond between
them. He had saved her life, after all.

Korinne had felt a little better when she saw the elf maid idly tuning
her harp and her husband intently greeting passersby in the middle of
their little chat. When they were done, Soth had laughed politely at
some joke the elf had made and they had parted as simply as any two?

friends would part.

There had been nothing to it.

Then why, even now as Soth happily moved about the room to chat with
others, did this feeling of sickness continue to gnaw at her belly?

Chapter 18.

The months passed like days for some, like years for others.

For those inside the keep, the months flew by as countless hours were
spent preparing the nursery, making clothes or guessing what name the
new Soth might be blessed with.

But for Lady Korinne the winter moved at a crawl. While some of her
early months were spent performing such motherly duties as decorating
the nursery, much of her time was spent resting in bed under the almost
constant supervision of the healer, Istvan. His regular examinations
always concluded with the same proclamation

"Everything between mother and child is as well as could be expected."

But no matter how many times Korinne heard those words, they did little
to ease the pain she felt inside. The child had become more than a
simple burden upon her and at times she wondered why she had never heard
other pregnant women complain of bouts of such constant, throbbing pain.

And as the months wore on, it was a surprise to no one that an
ever-increasing amount of Korinne's time was spent at rest. Throughout
the night and much of the day she'd lie in bed, either asleep or in a
half-awake sort of daze in which she was almost literally blinded by the
pain.

As a result, the winter days and nights seemed to be at a standstill for
Lord Soth, who in aching anticipation of the birth of his child, found
he could spend little time with his wife. When she was up and about she
tried to occupy herself with some pleasant detail concerning the
child-to be. Or, if she were free, he would be occupied by some tedious,
but nevertheless important, matter of state. When she slept, the healer
had ordered that she not be disturbed, and when she was lying in her bed
neither awake nor asleep, she was too affected by her pain to be much of
a companion, or even very receptive to Soth's awkward efforts at
comforting her.

And so, on one of the coldest days of Deepkolt, Soth looked elsewhere in
the keep for companionship. Weeks earlier, he had instructed the healer
to provide Isolde with her own private quarters. The healer had done so
gladly, putting the elf-maid in a room at the south end of the keep that
had not one but two entrances, one leading in from the main hallway, and
another leading in from a seldom used storage room. Soth thanked the
healer by promising to acquire more blue hyssop for him on his next trip
to Palanthas, and never spoke of the matter again.

And now, Soth walked through the cold, damp storage room placing his
hand against the inside of the moss covered south wall to guide his way.
When he came up against another wall, he patted his hands against it
until he felt the rough grain of several wooden planks butted up against
one another. Certain he'd found the door, he rapped his knuckles against
the wood.

"Who is it?" came the sweet voice from inside.

"It is I," he said. "Lord Soth."

Seconds later, the door was being opened.

The months continued to pass.

Brookgreen ... Yurthgreen ... Fleurgreen ... At last spring was in the
air.

New buds appeared on the branches.

Flowers began to bloom.

And Korinne's child was ready to come into the world.

Soth lay on the bed, his muscular naked body covered with a thin layer
of sweat. At his side, the lithe form of Isolde, similarly damp with
sweat, nestled into place within his arms. When she'd found a
comfortable position she breathed out a deep sigh of satisfaction, then
said, "The keep will soon have another mouth to feed."

Soth's smile was brief. Although he did not like to be reminded of his
wife and unborn child when he was with Isolde, he'd never told the
elf-maid not to mention Korinne, because the times she did were rare.
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "Korinne is due to birth the child any
day now."

Isolde looked at Soth with a coy sort of grin.

Soth noticed the look on the elf-maid's face. "What is it?" he asked.

"I'm not talking about Lady Korinne."

Soth was silent for a moment. "If not Korinne, who then?"

"Me," said Isolde. "I'm talking about me."

Soth's mouth opened, but he found himself unable to speak. He sat up in
the bed and looked at the elf-maid grinning up at him like a kender
who'd just borrowed a large cluster of priceless jewels.

"You mean ..."

Isolde nodded.

At first, Soth was overjoyed, but slowly found himself becoming troubled
by the news. All he could think of was the problems a bastard child
would cause for him within the keep. The secrecy and lies, the problems
his offspring --both of them--would have when they would inevitably
fight one another for the legacy of the Soth name. He thought of his own
half-brother and half-sister, both killed due to his orders to ensure
his own succession as sole heir to the Soth name and to the throne of
Knightlund.

In a single horrible moment, Soth realized that although he had vowed to
distance himself from his father he had actually become his father,
producing a bastard child just as his father had done so many years
ago--a half-elven child at that.

The words of his father echoed cruelly in his ears.

"Don't be so quick to condemn me, my son," Aynkell Soth had said. "You
are of my flesh and of my blood. You always will be. There's too much of
me in you for you to be so critical of my life."

Soth shivered at the recollection. Then he looked at Isolde, saw the joy
in her eyes, and knew he couldn't bring himself to share with her the
sense of dread that was clawing at his heart. "That's wonderful news,"
he stammered.

"It doesn't sound as if--"

Isolde's words were cut short by a knock upon the door that led out into
the main hallway.

"Who is it?" asked Isolde, her voice calm.

"Beg your pardon, but is ... milord with you?"

Isolde looked at Soth, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and fear.

"Who dares to call for me here?" bellowed Lord Soth, letting the person
outside know that he didn't look favorably upon such a blatant invasion
of his privacy.

"It's Caradoc, milord."

Soth rose from the bed and moved toward the door.

"What is it?" he asked, the irritation gone from his voice.

"It's your wife, milord," said Caradoc. "She's birthing the child and is
calling for you."

"I will be there at once."

He turned to face Isolde, unable to say anything.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. "Go," said Isolde. "Your wife needs
you."

Soth dressed hurriedly and as he rushed down the hallway found that he
could hear the agonizing screams of Lady Korinne even before he reached
the healer's chambers.

She was obviously in pain, a great deal of pain.

It is said that the pain of childbirth is the most easily forgotten, but
Soth found this hard to believe.

When he reached the healer's quarters he knocked on the door even
though, in this situation, he wasn't required to do so. After waiting a
few moments, Soth realized no one had heard his knock over the loud
cries of Lady Korinne. He opened the door and suddenly heard Korinne's
screams at full volume.

At first Soth winced at the sound. Although he'd heard men in battle cry
out in agony, he'd never heard such screams as he was hearing now.

He hurried over to Korinne's side. When she saw him, she relaxed
somewhat and her wails lessened. He took her hand and held it as she
panted to catch her breath.

She was drenched in sweat, her hair pasted down onto her forehead and
across her face. Her lips were dry and cracked and her chest rose and
fell at a frantic pace, as if she'd just completed a nonstop run from
Palanthas.

"Loren," she said when she was able. "I've been calling for you. Where
have you been?"

Soth found it hard to say anything. He saw the trusting look in her
eyes, the relief on her face upon his arrival and felt sick that he'd
betrayed her. "I was," he said. The next few words seemed to get stuck
in his throat for a moment. "I was ... reprimanding one of the knights."

"Really," she said, seemingly happy to have her mind diverted by
chatter. "Who was it? What did he do wrong?"

"That's not important now," said Soth. "What's important is how you are
feeling."

"Can't you see, I'm doing wonderfully--" A sudden stab of pain sliced
through Korinne's body and she arched her back. She let out a sharp cry,
then lay back on the bed, her eyes closed and at rest.

Soth brushed a hand over Korinne's face and looked over at the healer.

Istvan had been busy off in the corner preparing herb mixtures while
Soth and Korinne had spoken. Now he moved to Korinne's side, wiping her
face with a damp cloth.

"What is happening?" asked Soth.

Istvan shook his head. "Everything appears to be progressing normally. I
have delivered twenty-seven children in my time and all is as it should
be. The pain she is feeling confounds me."

"Can't you prepare something to lessen it?"

"I've tried," Istvan answered with a shrug. "But nothing seems to be
working." He looked Korinne over as he patted the damp cloth across her
forehead. "Your presence seems to have calmed her. This is the first
she's been able to rest for hours."

"Then I will stay until the child is born."

"Thank you," said Istvan. "It might help."

Soth looked at Istvan, wondering about the healer's choice of the word
might. Something told Soth that the healer, as was his custom, knew more
than he was letting on.

* * * * *

"I can see the head!" cried the healer, sweat dripping down off his
nose. He'd wanted to call in an assistant hours ago, but Soth had
forbidden it, not wanting any more people than were necessary to see
Lady Korinne in such a compromised state.

Soth was out in the hall just on the other side of the door. He had been
in the room for the longest time, but his constant concern over
Korinne's agonized shrieks had prompted the healer to ask Soth to leave
the room, allowing him to do his work without the interference and
misguided concerns of an impassioned observer.

"You must push," said Istvan. "Push harder!"

"I can't," cried Korinne, at the point of exhaustion.

Istvan believed her. He had never in his years seen such a lengthy and
painful birth. Everything about the delivery of this child was slow and
complicated when in truth there were absolutely no signs warranting
complications, or pain for that matter. But here was Korinne, in labor
half the day.

"You must try," Istvan said, his voice showing far more compassion than
normal. Usually he was very hard on women during birth, forcing them to
work harder in order to end their ordeal more quickly. But Korinne had
already suffered too much, for too long.

Korinne cut short a moan and pushed.

The child's head moved slightly, no more than the width of several
hairs. "Yes, that's it! Very good! Again!"

"It moved?" exclaimed Korinne, her voice breathy and filled with relief.

"Yes, it's coming. Now, push again."

She grimaced and tightened her body, tensing her stomach muscles and
trying to squeeze the child through the far-too-small birth canal.

"I see an ear!" cried Istvan. "Keep going!"

Korinne was almost laughing now. She probably felt the child beginning
to move a little more each time. After so many hours, she was happy to
see it finally out of her body.

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together and grabbed at the wooden
rails on either side of the bed.

Then she groaned sharply, and pushed.

Her fingernails cut deeply into the hard, polished wood of the rails.

The child's entire head appeared, followed quickly by its shoulders,
neck.

And then ... The rest of its body slid out into the world, almost in a
gush. Istvan caught the child, and gasped.

He held the child in his hands and for the longest time his mouth moved,
but he was unable to speak.

Finally, he said in a whisper, "Mishakal have mercy."

* * * *

Outside the room, Soth had been waiting for what seemed like hours. The
screams of his wife had pained him and now that they had stopped, he
feared the worst.

But as he continued to wait in silence, not knowing what had happened
was far worse than hearing the constant cries of pain. At last he rose
up from where he sat and opened the door to the healer's chambers.

The room seemed even quieter than the hall had been.

Korinne was lying on the bed, her chest rising and falling in a deep and
regular rhythm. Istvan sat at his desk with his head in his hands, no
doubt exhausted by what had been a lengthy birth.

Soth looked around for the child, but did not see it.

When Soth closed the door behind him, Istvan jumped.

The healer looked over at Soth, his face pale and his eyes wide in
something very much like fear. As Soth moved closer, he noticed the old
man looking even more aged and haggard than he remembered.

"Is she all right?" asked Soth in a whisper.

Istvan nodded. "Lady Korinne is resting. She will recover."

Soth nodded. "And what of the child?"

"It is resting as well, in the bassinet over there." He pointed to a
small cradle made of dark wood, a simple but well constructed piece
Istvan had chosen from the numerous examples Soth and Korinne had
received as wedding gifts.

Soth looked at Istvan for several long seconds.

Something wasn't right. If the child was doing well, Istvan would be
overjoyed, and Korinne would be holding the child to her breast even in
her current state of exhaustion.

And what had Istvan said? It was resting, he'd said. Not he or she, but
it.

"Can I see ..." Soth began.

"Perhaps it might be best if--"

"I said, can I see my child?" Soth asked, louder this time.

Korinne stirred. "Is that you, Loren?" she asked.

Istvan knew better than to defy Soth twice. "Of course."

He got up from where he sat and walked over to the bassinet. Then he
reached into the cradle and took out the bundled child, wrapped tightly
in a scarlet blanket. He handed the bundle to Soth.

Soth found it awkward to hold the bundle properly, but he eventually
managed to get a firm but gentle grasp. He hadn't held that many babies
in his lifetime, but this child felt different. Its body seemed hard and
bony.

Istvan turned away, taking up a position near Korinne.

Soth pulled aside the blanket and looked upon ... An abomination.

The child's eyes were open wide, shining black and glassy in the dim
light from the candles. There were hard nubs of bones along the crown of
its head, almost as if it were the offspring of a dragon.

Soth swallowed, his body shuddering in shock. He pulled the blanket
further aside and saw ... That the child's two arms were on the right
side of its body, a leg where the other arm should be. And the second
leg was positioned in the center of the lower portion of the trunk,
looking much like a tail.

Soth felt his knees go weak and his heart beginning to creep up into his
throat.

This was no child of his.

This was the spawn of Evil, the offspring of one of the dark and evil
gods.

Soth took another glance at the child and grimaced.

It wasn't even a child.

It was a monster.

And even if there wasn't a dark god at work here, then it could have
easily been the work of some other hideous:: beast; a centaur perhaps,
or a satyr What else could have) caused such gross deformity of the
human body?

The thought of Korinne with another man--with another creature--sent
anger flaring through Soth's body.

He wrapped the thing back in the blanket and held it at arm's length.

"Have you seen him?" asked Korinne, her voice soft yet proud. "Is he
beautiful?"

Madness roiled in the pit of Soth's belly, slowly making its way to his
brain. "Take it!" Soth said to Istvan, holding the child out to the
healer.

"What's wrong?" asked Korinne.

"So you think the beast beautiful, do you?" Soth shouted.

"Have you been so blinded by love for the devouring dark that you can't
even see the evil offspring you've created?"

"What?" cried Korinne, struggling to sit up. "Let me see him. Let me see
my boy!"

"Boy?" said Soth, walking over to Istvan and snatching the blanket from
his hands. He unwrapped the child and held it high above his head. "Is
this your boy? Or is this the product of monstrous infidelity, evil
faithlessness?"

Korinne simply looked at the child, blinking in disbelief.

Her mind was reeling. Finally she shook her head. "No, I've always been
faithful to you."

"Liar!" He shook the child as he spoke and Istvan quickly retrieved it.

"I have been, I swear to you!" repeated Korinne.

"Then how do you explain that ... that monster?"

"My boy?" Korinne asked, looking to Istvan.

She paused in confusion and then suddenly her face became a mask of
terror. She turned her wide eyes upon her husband. "It's your fault. You
were the one who created it!" "Has your lover made you mad as well?"
shouted Soth.

"Your seed wouldn't give me a child, so I paid a visit to the hedge
witch who gave me a child ... the child you couldn't produce."

"So, it's born of the blackest sort of magic," Soth hissed.

"No, the blackest of souls," replied Korinne.

For a moment, Korinne's words sent a spike of fear through Soth's heart.
"Istvan," he called. "Leave the room.

Now."

Istvan made ready to leave, carrying the child.

"Leave it there!"

Dutifully, Istvan set the child in the bassinet and left the room,
locking the door behind him.

Soth turned to face Korinne.

"What madness moves your tongue?"

Korinne was in tears. "The witch told me the health of the child would
depend on the purity of your soul. I knew you'd been intimate with the
elf, but I could never imagine you'd done so much evil in your life that
you could produce such a ... such a ..." Her voice trailed off and she
began to sob openly.

Soth looked at her, the words causing a sudden touch of fear to become
mixed in with his rage. If it were true, if the child's health depended
on his virtue, it was no wonder that it had been born a ... A sort of
madness began to seep into his mind as he realized that, as much as he'd
tried to avoid them, his father's sins had become his, had become his
child's.

The sins of the father, passed on from generation to generation.

"What have you done?" Korinne shouted between sobs.

"What black deed have you done?"

Soth's eyes narrowed as he glared at Korinne. The sudden shock he'd felt
at her words had been erased by rage.

And now, utter madness was overtaking him. A potent mixture of rage,
anger, jealousy, and self-hate. It consumed him like flame, controlled
his actions.

Without answering her question, he drew a dagger from the belt around
his waist and held it before him in his fisted right hand.

"What ... what are you doing?" she screamed, her eyes wide with terror.
"No, please--"

He was at one with the madness now.

As he moved toward Korinne, the sounds of her screams were suddenly
mixed with the sickeningly hoarse grunts of the newborn child.

Minutes later there was only silence.

* * * * *

Caradoc and Istvan had been waiting outside the chamber while Soth was
inside with his wife and newborn child.

Why Soth wanted to be alone in the room, particularly without the help
of the healer, Caradoc didn't know.

What he did know was that if Soth wanted to be alone in the room, then
it was up to him to make sure he remain undisturbed.

When Korinne's screams began, Istvan abruptly got up from where he sat
and desperately wanted to gain access to the chambers. It was his job,
after all, to heal the sick and ease the suffering of those in pain. But
rather than allow him entrance to the room, Caradoc had moved in front
of the door, blocking Istvan's way.

"Perhaps it would be best to wait until milord calls you back inside."

Istvan had been troubled by this, and well he should, thought Caradoc,
because there was something strange about the birth of this child. So
much pain, it wasn't right.

Nevertheless, both Caradoc and Istvan's allegiance was sworn to the lord
of the keep and it was their duty to follow his orders.

When Korinne's screams grew louder, Caradoc himself had wanted to break
down the door to find out what was happening, but he steeled himself
against the impulse and cast a cold eye toward Istvan to make sure the
healer did not move.

And now they waited patiently for the appearance of Lord Soth, Caradoc
cleaning his fingernails with the end of a stiletto, Istvan doing a
variety of stretching exercises designed to ease the troublesome pain in
his joints.

The door suddenly moved, then began to swing open on its hinges. Soth
appeared in the doorway, his long black hair hanging down from his head
like tattered threads, a touch of gray apparent around the temples and
streaked throughout with wisps of white.

"Is everything all right, milord?" asked Caradoc.

Soth shook his head. "No, I'm afraid it isn't."

"What's happened?" said Istvan, getting to his feet.

"Unfortunately, both milady and the child ... died during childbirth,"
said Soth, his voice surprisingly calm. He looked directly at Istvan.
"Despite your best efforts."

"But I--" Istvan began to say.

Soth cut him off with a hard look, then turned to face Caradoc.

The seneschal shivered as Soth's cold eyes seem to cut right through
him.

"I said, milady and the child died during childbirth." He said each word
slowly and clearly. "Despite the heroic efforts of our most brave and
gallant healer."

"Yes, milord," said Caradoc.

Soth waited for the healer to speak.

"Yes, milord," Istvan whispered.

Soth nodded, leaned forward to speak directly to Caradoc. "Get rid of
the bodies," he said. "And make sure there's nothing left when you are
done."

Caradoc swallowed. "Yes, milord." "Good," said Soth. "Istvan. It's been
a long night.

Perhaps we should both get some rest." He put a hand on the healer's
shoulder and led him away.

Caradoc entered the chamber. After two steps he realized his boots were
sticking to blood that had pooled on the surface of the floor.
Nevertheless he continued toward where the bed sat against the far wall
of the room.

He stopped dead in his tracks long before he got there.

As he looked at the gore on the bed, his stomach spasmed and he
swallowed in an attempt to keep from retching. He covered his mouth and
tried to look away, but found he couldn't--his eyes were too firmly
locked on the blood-soaked bed.

And while he did his best to block all thought from his mind so that he
might be able to complete his assigned task, one thought kept coming
back to him.

Even some of Soth's worst enemies--beings who championed the forces of
evil and who were killed in the intense heat of battle--had never been
so completely savaged.

Chapter 19.

The silhouette of the pyre stood out in high relief against the red and
orange streaks that colored the twilight sky. Atop the pyre on one side
was a long, rectangular wooden box. On the other side was a much smaller
box about the size of a traveler's trunk.

Lord Soth had specified that the bodies of Lady Korinne and the child be
disposed of by fire in order to prevent the spread of disease. Although
many who had been close to Korinne showed consternation over the matter,
Soth insisted that it was necessary to protect the rest of those within
the keep.

Protect them from what, he wouldn't say.

One of the most vocal opponents to such a ceremony was Korinne's mother,
Leyla, who wanted the bodies of both her daughter and grandchild to be
brought back to Palanthas so that they might rest alongside her husband
Reynard in the Gladria family tomb. Soth said no to the request, and
after that all others were reluctant to approach him on the subject.

As the last pieces of hardwood were being placed on the pyre, the crowd
slowly closed in around it, huddling together as if for warmth. Despite
the rich warm colors painting the sky, the evening air was cooler than
normal, a subtle reminder of the somber mood pervading the gathering.

Soth himself had been affected more than anyone by the deaths, as well
he should. But more than simply grieving, he seemed to be pulling
himself away from all but his closest friends and confidants. His
knights were, of course, part of his shrinking inner circle, as was the
healer and a few others who had always been close to him. But what
raised more than a few eyebrows was his frequent contact with the
elf-maid, Isolde Denissa.

While it was to be expected that there would be a bond between the
two--he had saved her life, after all--they were seen together far more
often than was appropriate for such casual acquaintances, particularly
so soon after the death of Lady Korinne.

Then there were those who were thankful for Isolde's presence within the
keep. Whenever Soth spoke to her or was in her company, he seemed less
troubled and more easily able to deal with his pain. If she was helping
the lord of the keep to better handle the sudden loss of Korinne and his
child, then so be it.

As the last of the crowd moved in tightly around the pyre, Soth found
himself standing next to Isolde. Then, as the torches were thrown
against the kindling at the bottom of the pyre and the fire started to
burn, Soth leaned to his right and spoke to her.

Many in attendance noticed the subtle movement, and thought it odd.
Others took it as an ominous sign that things would be very different
around the keep now that Lady Korinne was gone.

Isolde wept as she watched the flames begin creeping up toward the boxes
containing Korinne and her child. To lose a wife and a child, a child so
long-awaited and shortlived, was an event painful beyond imagining.

Soth was being strong through the tragedy, but the catastrophic nature
of it had to have taken its toll on him. As heroic as his stature was,
he was only a man.

She continued to weep as she watched the fire burn, the flames leaving
bright orange coals in their wake. The flames rose higher, engulfing the
boxes and obscuring them from view.

And then, as Isolde watched the fire burn, she felt the warm press of
Soth's breath against her ear.

"Weep not, my love," he whispered. "After the required six months of
mourning is observed, the keep will have another lady. And after that,
there will be the arrival of another Soth child to be rejoiced." Isolde
continued to weep ... But slowly her tears turned into those of joy.

* * * *

Six months later, in the middle of Darkember, Lord Soth and Isolde
Denissa were wed in the grand hall in Dargaard Keep. The wedding
ceremony was a far cry from the pomp and ceremony of Soth's first
marriage to Lady Korinne, but no one in the keep thought it would be
proper to have a wedding on such a grand scale so closely following the
death of Korinne and her child.

Caradoc joined Soth at the altar, while Mirrel took her place by
Isolde's side. Shortly after Soth had asked her to marry him, Isolde had
asked Mirrel to be her lady-in waiting. At first Mirrel had refused the
offer, but Isolde eventually managed to convince the young girl that she
needed her help in order to keep things running smoothly within the
keep. It would be Mirrel's job to advise the new lady of the keep about
rules of order and other matters of decorum. When it was put to her in
that way, Mirrel quickly accepted the position in the hopes of somehow
keeping Korinne's memory alive for years to come.

Other prominent guests at the wedding included Istvan, who seemed to
have grown even closer to Lord Soth over the last few months. Soth was
almost doting on the elderly healer. Soth's knights were also present,
all thirteen of them in gleaming plate and mail armor, forming an honor
guard for Soth and his bride. And finally, rounding out the wedding
party, were the elf-maids who had been traveling with Isolde when they
were unceremoniously attacked by ogres and subsequently rescued by Soth
and his knights.

Sadly, the elf-woman who'd been escorting Isolde and her friends to
Palanthas had been unable to attend. When Soth had asked why, one of the
elf-maids had told him she was too sick to attend, while another had
said she refused to attend because she considered the marriage to be a
doomed one.

The only other person in attendance from outside Dargaard Keep was Lord
Cyril Mordren, High Clerist of the Knights of Solamnia. He had been
summoned from Palanthas to conduct the ceremony, but responded with
surprise because he hadn't been called to the keep to perform any burial
rights following the death of Lady Korinne. Nevertheless, he performed
the wedding ceremony adequately enough, although he did glance several
times at Isolde's belly which--although difficult to be certain --seemed
to be heavy with child.

"You are now wed, husband and wife," said Lord Mordren, concluding the
ceremony. "You may kiss her, if you wish."

Soth took Isolde in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

The hall was filled with the sound of clapping hands. A polite amount of
applause. Nothing more.

* * * *

"Did you see her?" asked one of the serving girls as she set the plates
upon the high table for the wedding feast.

"Out to here." "Maybe she's getting fat," said another girl, putting the
cups into place. "You know, living too well in the keep and all of
that."

"Have you ever seen a fat elf?"

"No, but ..."

"I say milord sure didn't waste any time."

"Nooo!"

"Oh yes, and there's others that say worse."

The second woman stopped placing cups on the tables.

"What do they say?"

The first girl looked left and right before speaking. "They say that
Lady Korinne didn't die birthing the child.

They say she died after."

"Who's they?"

"Them that knows."

"Who?" the second girl demanded.

"Mirrel," the first whispered. "The elf's lady-in-waiting herself."

The second girl just shook her head. "No. I can't believe it. Not
milord."

The first serving girl looked at the other, glaring. "You believe what
you want. My guess is that the whole truth might never be known. All I
know is that it's been six months since milady died and if I didn't know
any better I'd say the elf is about that far along. Maybe more."

"It can't be."

"Well, we'll see. But I'll bet a month's wages there'll be a little Soth
running around the keep sooner than you'd expect."

After a few moments of silence, the second girl said. "I don't think I
want to take that bet." "Hmmph!" said the first, satisfied she was in
the right.

The two girls continued working in silence.

* * * *

Darkember passed, followed by Frostkelt and Newkelt.

Over the course of the three months, Isolde's belly swelled ever larger
until one night early in the new year, she went into labor.

Istvan, the keep's healer, wasn't looking forward to bringing another
child into the world, especially into the increasingly mysterious world
of Dargaard Keep. Since the death of Lady Korinne the keep had become a
shadow of its former self. It was no longer a place of life and
vitality, but rather a place shrouded by darkness and permeated by a
sense of foreboding.

But despite his personal apprehension over the matter, Istvan was bound
to Lord Soth and dutifully worked to bring the new Soth offspring into
being. Unlike that of Lady Korinne, Isolde's delivery was almost
effortless and without pain. Still, Istvan couldn't bring himself to
look at the child at first, afraid it might be another grotesque
monstrosity. When he finally did look at it, however, he was relieved to
find it was a boy, a large and healthy boy with all of his little parts
in the right places, including a thick head of coal black hair just like
that of his father.

So, with mother and child resting comfortably, Istvan called on Lord
Soth, inviting him to join his wife and newborn child.

"Is everything all right?" asked Soth, his usually strong voice sounding
somewhat unsure of itself.

"Yes," said Istvan.

"Everything?"

"The mother and the boy are both doing well."

"The boy?"

"Yes. A strong and healthy boy. Congratulations."

Istvan paused a moment to give Soth the chance to express his
appreciation for a successful birth.

But instead of expressing his gratitude to the healer, Soth pushed by
Istvan and rushed into the room to join his wife and newborn son.

Istvan sighed and closed the door to his chambers, allowing the new
family a few moments alone.

"You're a handsome young devil, aren't you," cooed Mirrel as she tended
to the newborn Soth. The child, a half-elf, had been named Peradur in
honor of Soth's great great-grandfather who had been the first of the
Soth clan to become a Knight of Solamnia under the command of Vinas
Solamnus himself.

The child made soft, gurgling sounds. It was a happy, content baby, and
Mirrel was proud that the child was doing so well. While she knew of
Soth's unfaithfulness to Korinne and it was clear the child had been
conceived while Soth was still wed to Lady Korinne--indeed while she was
heavy with a child of her own--Mirrel still loved the child. It was an
innocent bystander faultlessly caught up in a web of deceit. And besides
that, Lady Korinne had wanted so much to have a child that she would
have wanted this child to grow up as if it were her own.

If anyone were to blame in this whole mess it was the hallowed Lord
Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose and philanderer of the
highest order.

She'd been making her opinions known to anyone in the keep who would
listen and those people numbered more and more each day. She knew it was
dangerous to speak such words so freely, knew she could lose her
position in the keep--perhaps even her life, judging by some of Lord
Soth's past deeds--but she couldn't stop herself. Lady Korinne had
risked everything to give her husband a child, and he had repaid her by
bedding the elf while she had been bed-ridden. Then he had brutally
murdered her when the child turned out to be somewhat less than healthy.

She couldn't prove the last point, but she knew it almost intuitively.
Once the healer had told her that Lady Korinne had lived through the
birth, then quickly recanted, saying he had become confused with the
birth of another child that same day.

It wasn't like the healer to make such mistakes. He was old, but his
mind was still as sharp as many of his instruments. If he had been
mistaken about such a subject, then there had been a reason for it.
After hours of long thought over the matter, she surmised that he had
told Mirrel the truth in order to circumvent his oath of loyalty to Lord
Soth.

As a result she'd been busy spreading the word.

Not many had believed her at first, but over time more and more people
began wondering if it might be true, and that was enough.

For now.

Eventually, she would make Soth pay for murdering Lady Korinne, but for
now she was content merely to tarnish the image of the great and heroic
knight. The rest would come later.

The baby swung his arms in wide arcs and laughed.

"You're going to be a good knight when you grow up, a better knight than
your father is, which shouldn't be all that hard to do."

"Mirrel!"

Mirrel gasped at the sound of Isolde's voice and slowly turned around.
The elf was standing in the doorway. How long she'd been there Mirrel
couldn't tell, but she was fairly certain that she'd been there long
enough to hear her speak poorly of milord. "Yes, milady."

Isolde stepped into the room. She was a beautiful being,;; even for an
elf, and many said her beauty far outshone that of Lady Korinne's.
Mirrel didn't see it that way. In her mind, no one could match the
beauty of Lady Korinne, especially inside where she had been most
beautiful of all.

"I've heard some distressing things during my walk"

through the keep this morning." "Distressing things?" said Mirrel. "Like
what?"

Isolde stepped into the room and sat down near Mirrel and the baby.
"People are saying that Lady Korinne didn't die during childbirth, but
was Killed after the fact."

Obviously Isolde had paused to give Mirrel the chance to condemn such
accusations, but Mirrel simply sat in silence with her hands folded on
her lap.

"I've tried to quell the rumor, but it's strong and still it persists."

Mirrel knew she was treading on unsteady ground, but she decided to
venture forth. After all, this could be her best chance to convince the
elf of the truth. "Perhaps it's true, then."

"It is not!"

"What if it is?"

Isolde looked at Mirrel for a very long time. Finally, her eyes narrowed
and she said, "It's you, isn't it? You're the one spreading the rumors,
telling lies." "No lies, milady," said Mirrel, realizing that if she'd
gone this far, she might as well go all the way. "The truth." "Liar!"
shouted Isolde.

Mirrel refused to be shouted down into silence. She defiantly thrust her
chin forward and began to tell Isolde of her and Korinne's midnight
journey to the home of the hedge witch and the warning the old witch had
made about the child's well-being--that it depended solely on the purity
of the Lord Soth's soul.

"Enough!" cried Isolde, her hands over her ears and her head turning
from side to side. "Lies, they're all lies!"

"What possible benefit would I gain by lying?" asked Mirrel. "What
reason do I have for lying, other than undying loyalty to Lady Korinne?"

"Out!" screamed Isolde.

The child had begun to cry.

"Out of my chambers! Out of this tower! Out of Dargaard Keep!"

"You can send me away," said Mirrel getting up to leave. "But ridding
yourself of the truth won't be as easy!"

Isolde thrust out her hand, pointing at the open door.

Mirrel left without another word.

The portcullis was raised long before Mirrel was ready to leave. Along
with the guards manning the gatehouse and drawbridge, there were several
of her friends waiting to say good-bye. None of them looked happy to see
her go. After all, Mirrel had been one of their own, elevated in status
through the sheer good graces of Lady Korinne.

"Don't worry," said a laundress. "You'll be back in the keep someday
soon."

Mirrel just stared at the woman, a look of pity on her face. "What makes
you think I'd want to return to such a damned and cursed keep as this?"

The women were shocked by the words, unable to say anything in reply.

"With the way things are going," added Mirrel, "I'm lucky to be leaving
while I'm still able."

This was far truer than Mirrel liked to let on. It had been fortunate
for her that Lady Isolde had had the arrogance to handle her banishment
by herself. For if Isolde had gone to Lord Soth with the problem, Mirrel
might have suddenly disappeared under curious circumstances, or have
simply been murdered by Caradoc or one of the other knights.

"Then may Mishakal light your way," said one of the women as Mirrel
headed toward the bridge.

Mirrel stopped, turned and looked at the woman. She nodded thanks and
said, "And yours as well."

Then she turned away and exited the keep.

Outside, it was late afternoon and the light of day was slowly being
shrouded by the gathering darkness.

Chapter 20.

The night sky was clear of clouds and the stars twinkled against their
black backdrop like diamonds under a midday sun.

The Kingpriest of Istar stood alone on the balcony of the highest tower
of the temple. He was dressed in one of his finest silken robes. It was
yellow and white, and bejeweled with all manner of rare gemstones,
including diamonds.

He had come to address the gods.

His brethren.

He stepped up onto a platform so that he was standing above the
balcony's rail and unencumbered by such mundane man-made concerns as
walls and rails and floors. He stood, almost on the air, with nothing
before him but the cool night air, and nothing above him but the black
star studded night sky.

"My fellows," he began, raising his arms over his shoulders.

"I have labored for many years to bring peace to the races and tribes of
Krynn; indeed it had been my life's work. Once peace was achieved I made
sure that it would last for hundreds of years, something even you as
gods could not do for the people consigned to your ever watchful care.
Further to that, I made the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue, declaring
that Evil in the world was an affront to both mortals as well as we
gods."

Clouds slowly began to move in from the north and west'.

"I single-handedly vanquished Evil from the face of Krynn, and further
enabled Good to spread across the land by leading the Siege on Sorcery,
exiling the evil mages and ensuring their wicked brand of magic would
never again be used for the purposes of evil." The clouds continued to
roll in. Many of the stars including the brighter ones, began to wink
out.

"And now, with the Edict of Thought Control, I have acquired the power
to read the thoughts of the people of Istar, stopping evil deeds before
they can be enacted, and thereby defeating Evil before it has a chance
to make its presence known. I have put an end to Evil as we know it!"

The cloud cover was complete now.

Thunder rolled within.

"So friends and colleagues, I implore you, since I have proven that I
have powers comparable to yours, I ask that you allow me to ascend to
the heavens and take my rightful place between Paladine and Mishakal as
one of the greater gods of Krynn. Together, you will help me rule over
Krynn so that Evil will never again dare to make its presence felt."

The thunder grew louder.

"Take me now!" cried the Kingpriest. "Elevate me to my rightful place in
the heavens and I will show you how to--"

A bone-jarring clap of thunder seemed to explode inside the clouds over
the temple. The shock waves of the blast shook the temple to its
foundations.

The Kingpriest struggled to keep his balance on the platform, managing
to remain upright until the rumbling sound of the thunderclap had
finally run its course.

"I demand that you make me one of you!" cried the Kingpriest.

The clouds began to roil angrily and the wind picked up, making his
robes billow like flags in a storm.

"I command you!"

A bolt of lightning shot out from the clouds, hitting the Kingpriest's
platform and shattering it into a thousand splinters.

The Kingpriest toppled from his lofty perch, landing on his back and
falling unconscious.

It began to rain, hard and cold.

The drops falling on the Kingpriest's face stung his flesh like bitterly
cold needles. He blinked his eyes open, saw the storm overhead and
raised a clenched fist toward the heavens.

"You will come to regret this," he cried.

Thunder boomed.

Jagged lightning pierced the blackness of the night.

"You might control the heavens, but I"--he placed a hand over his
chest--"control the world."

Another bolt of lightning shot out from the clouds, this time slamming
into the slim standard-bearing tower above and behind him.

The tower began to topple.

The Kingpriest scrambled to get out of the way, and just managed to get
inside before the tower crashed down onto the balcony, causing it to
break away from the temple.

Chapter 21.

Mirrel spent several uneventful days riding across the Solamnic Plains
on her way to Palanthas. She was a capable rider and a strong young
woman who could handle herself on the sometimes harsh trail to the
capital of Solamnia.

She had family in Palanthas, distant relatives who would take her in for
a time until she got settled in the city and began a new life for
herself. That was one of the reasons she was traveling to Palanthas, but
not the most important one.

The thing that drove her so swiftly across the plains was the faint hope
that she would be granted a private audience with the High Justice of
the Knights of Solamnia, Lord Adam Caladen. If she were somehow granted
that audience, she would be able to tell Lord Caladen what she had been
telling those in Dargaard Keep these past few months. Only she wouldn't
tread as lightly as she had in the keep. If she were able to speak to
the high justice, she would tell him of Lord Soth's deeds as plainly and
as graphically as she could.

If nothing came of it afterward, then at least she would be content in
the knowledge that she had done her best to bring the truth to light. If
people were still unwilling to look upon that light, then she would turn
her back on it and let the matter rest once and for all.

When she told her relatives of her plans they thought her insane. The
high justice was an important and busy man, they said, who had no time
for a simple maid--a simple former maid--from an outlying keep.

But she remained undaunted. She was not just a simple chamber maid. She
had been at one time, but she had been elevated in status and had been
Lady Korinne's lady-in waiting. Surely the high justice would be happy
to meet with her.

But her first visit to the Hall of High Justice on the shores of the Bay
of Branchala in the west end of Palanthas was anything but successful.
She was made to wait for hours in a cold and damp room, only to be
forgotten by the knight who had told her to wait there.

That night, she traveled the darkened streets of Palanthas to the home
of Leyla Gladria where she was immediately taken in. There she told her
story to the elderly woman who was keen to hear anything having to do
with the all-too-brief life of her beloved daughter and even briefer
life of her long-awaited grandchild.

Finally, Mirrel had found a sympathetic ear, and more.

"I knew that man would be bad for my daughter, knight or no!" she said.
"I always felt there was another side to Soth, a darker side. But he was
so charming from the first, much too charming if you ask me."

Mirrel listened attentively and patiently to the elderly woman as she
talked for what seemed like hours. She didn't mind, even when Leyla
Gladria began repeating herself or crying out loud. Mirrel realized that
the old woman still needed to come to terms with the loss of her
daughter, and understood that if she could help ease some of the elderly
woman's pain, then she would be fulfilling her oath of loyalty to the
former Lady Korinne.

When Leyla Gladria's bitter words came to an end and she had composed
herself somewhat, she looked at Mirrel and nodded. "If it's an audience
with the high justice you want, then that's just what you'll get."

* * * *

"According to what I remember of these mountains, the hedge witch's
cabin should be somewhere near the foot of that mountain there." Soth
pointed at a great snowcapped mountain, one of the tallest peaks in all
of the Dargaard Mountains.

"Lead the way," said Caradoc. Soth's seneschal was unsure of the purpose
of their journey to this nearly uninhabited part of the Dargaard Range.
He had mentioned something about killing a witch to preserve the truth,
but none of it made much sense. Eventually, Caradoc had merely shrugged
it off as yet another mysterious aftereffect of the tragedy that had
befallen Lord Soth.

The two knights headed south into the deep dark rift in the mountain
range called the Soul's Wound. After an hour's ride they came upon the
small stone cottage, an odd structure partially obscured by the
encroaching mountains which loomed over it like a tidal wave ready to
crash down upon it at any moment.

"There it is!" cried Caradoc.

Soth kicked at the ribs of his mount and hurried toward the small stone
cottage. Caradoc followed.

The windows of the cottage were dark and lifeless.

Soth dismounted and walked up to the front door. After a moment of
hesitation he drew his broadsword, then reared back and kicked down the
door. He crouched down to fit through the doorway and entered the
cottage with his sword held out in front of him.

Slowly he moved through the room, searching the dark corners.

For what? Caradoc wondered.

At last he turned back toward the entrance, an angry scowl on his face.
"The hag is gone!" he said.

And then suddenly his broadsword was slicing through the air in a fit of
rage, smashing chairs and tables and anything else the blade could find
and destroy.

Caradoc first covered his face to protect it from flying debris, then
stepped outside and waited patiently for Soth's fury to run its course.

* * * *

The next morning a trio of knights arrived at the home of Mirrel's
relatives and a most handsome man with long red hair and an equally long
scarlet mustache knocked on the door.

Mirrel answered the door, still dressed in her nightdress.

"Are you Mirrel?" asked the knight. "The former lady in-waiting of Lady
Korinne of Dargaard Keep?"

"Yes," said Mirrel, at a loss as to what was going on.

"Lord Caladen has asked us to escort you to the Hall of High Justice.
Please make ready to leave immediately."

Mirrel hurriedly changed her clothes, then rode with the knights to the
Hall of High Justice. Upon their arrival they were sent immediately into
the inner hall. Then Mirrel alone was led up to a heavy wooden door
bearing the symbol of the Knights of Solamnia--the majestic kingfisher
with its wings half extended, grasping a sword with its sharp claws.
There was a rose beneath the bird, and a crown above it.

She knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a voice.

She opened the door. Sitting in the middle of the room was Lord Caladen.
Across from him was another chair, presumably for her to be seated upon.
There were no other windows or doorways to the room; what was said
within it never went beyond its four walls.

She entered the room and sat down, her heart pounding hard inside her
chest and her throat uncomfortably dry.

Lord Caladen smiled.

At once, Mirrel felt more relaxed.

"Leyla Gladria has told me that I might be interested in hearing what
you have to say." "Very interested," said Mirrel, breathing a deep sigh
of relief.

"All right, then. Tell me."

And she did.

Murder, thought Lord Caladen. It was a serious charge.

And the murder of a man's own wife and child, well, there was no more
serious matter on the face of Krynn.

But could someone as vaunted as Lord Loren Soth, Knight of the Rose, be
capable of such a crime? He was an excellent leader, a fearless warrior
and from all accounts a kind and just man.

From all accounts, except for the very vivid and detailed one told by
Lady Korinne's former lady-in-waiting. If the woman was to be believed,
Soth had been unfaithful to his wife with an elf-maid, even when his
wife had been carrying his child. This charge was not all that hard to
believe considering the reputation of the knight's father, Aynkell Soth.

But while being a philanderer was against the Oath and the Measure, Lord
Caladen was inclined to look the other way on such matters. He wanted to
disbelieve the accusation of murder, dismiss the charges as the
misguided vengeance of a dismissed lady, but too many things she'd said
had made too much sense.

There were rumors regarding the matter, rumors which had traveled to
Palanthas well before the arrival of the former maid named Mirrel.
People in the keep had heard the sounds of a child's cries, suggesting
there had been a live; birth. The same people had heard Lady Korinne's
screams, suggesting she had survived the birth as well. And there was
the matter of the cremation to consider. Even if Soth had been
devastated by the deaths of his wife and child, a lightning quick
cremation was not in keeping with Solamnic customs. There should have
been a period in which Korinne lay in state so that people could have
paid their respects, and men she should have received a proper burial
within the Soth family crypt. Such a ceremony was automatic for someone
of Lady Korinne's standing.

Like everyone else, Lord Caladen had heard the rumors that the cremation
was performed to prevent the spread of disease, but like everyone else
he had a hard time believing it. For what manner of disease causes a
woman to die while giving birth?

So, if not to prevent the spread of disease, why then, would the
ceremony have been conducted so quickly?

To hide evidence of foul play. It was the only reason Lord Caladen could
think of. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Obviously,
something was amiss.

And when he thought of how quickly Soth had remarried, and how soon
after Korinne's death a second child had been born.

Clearly, an investigation was in order.

"Fenton!" called Lord Caladen, summoning his assistant Garnett Fenton,
Knight of the Sword.

"Yes, Lord Caladen," said Fenton as he entered the lord's office.

"Send a message to Dargaard Keep ..."

Chapter 22.

It was several weeks before Lord Soth was Able to make the trip to
Palanthas and by that time the rumors were circulating among the
Solamnic Knights of Palanthas like snowflakes in a blizzard. The many
knights stationed in the great port city were split as to the reason why
Soth had been summoned to the Hall of High Justice. Some believed that
he had been negligent in his duties as a Knight of the Rose or had
otherwise broken the code of the Oath and the Measure. Others believed
he had done something worse, breaking not only the laws of the Knights
of Solamnia, but the laws of good conduct by which all in Solamnia--
indeed most of Krynn--aspired to live. Still, others emphatically
believed him to be completely innocent of everything and anything. To
them, this summons was simply a ruse to discredit the good Soth family
name.

The lengthy wait for Soth's arrival provided Lord Caladen ample
opportunity to make inquiries about what Mirrel had told him. Much to
his dismay, many of the most crucial points had been corroborated by
others, some of whom had absolutely no other motive than to speak the
truth.

His findings left him no alternative other than to make sure that
justice prevailed, no matter what it might do to the reputation of the
Knights of Solamnia. In his mind, the knighthood would be better served
by the quick and severe condemnation of a guilty knight than by any
attempt to ignore or hide the truth. Truth was an unstoppable force and
would eventually win out over lies. When that happened, it would bring
down more than just a single knight; it would cripple the entire
knighthood. No, this was something that had to be dealt with swiftly.
And the more swiftly the better.

Soth was greeted by a party of six knights--two from each of the
orders--at the base of the High Clerist's Tower, the stronghold of the
Knights of Solamnia that guarded the mountain pass leading into the
city.

"Beg your pardon, Lord Soth," said Sword Knight Garrett Fenton, leader
of the escort party. "But the high justice requests that you enter the
city alone."

While this was somewhat irregular, it wasn't totally unheard of. Still,
Soth didn't understand why he couldn't remain in the company of his own
knights for the rest of the journey. He had been summoned to the city on
a matter of routine business, after all. Nevertheless, he respected the
wishes of the high justice and parted company with his loyal knights,
saying, "Wait for me. I won't be long."

"We'll be here, milord," said Caradoc. "Or more precisely, we'll be
waiting for you in The Drookit Duck."

Soth laughed. The Drookit Duck was a popular tavern on the southeastern
rim of Palanthas. Visitors to the city who stopped there quite often
never made it further into the capital. "Save a tankard for me."

"I make no promises," said Caradoc.

All of Soth's knights laughed.

His six escorts did not.

Soth was taken along a route that led directly to the Hall of High
Justice. As they rode the streets, Soth noticed that there were a lot
more knights out and about than usual.

Suddenly, he began to have a bad feeling about what was going on. Not
only were there knights lining the route, but many of them sat atop
their mounts with their swords drawn and at the ready.

Soth took firm hold of the reins and tried to break ranks, but found
himself blocked in on all sides by his escorts.

Then he reached for his broadsword, only to see it pulled from its
sheath by the knight who had been riding to his left.

In mere seconds Soth had gone from being Lord Soth, Knight of the Rose
to Lord Soth, prisoner of High Justice Lord Adam Caladen.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growled at his fellow knights.

None answered.

"Have you all gone mad?"

Again silence.

He struggled to dismount but found it too difficult to move in the tight
space left for him by the other knights.

Nevertheless, he continued to struggle.

"Lord Caladen will explain it all to you when we arrive at the Hall of
High Justice," said Garrett Fenton. "Until then, Lord Soth, I ask that
you conduct yourself with the utmost dignity and honor."

Soth bit his bottom lip and inhaled an angry breath, but made no more
attempts to escape. As they arrived in the courtyard in front of the
hall, there were a dozen knights there to receive him, all clad in
armor, all with their broadswords drawn.

And at the edge of the large crowd that had gathered, he recognized a
familiar face that did not belong to any knight.

It was a woman's face.

He looked closely at her, realizing it was Isolde's former
lady-in-waiting, the same lady-in-waiting who had served his first wife
Korinne so faithfully in the year leading up to her death.

What was her name? Miriam? Miranda? Mir ... Mirrel, that was it. She'd
been banished from the keep by Isolde.

Everyone had thought she would travel to Istar, but apparently she had
gone straight to Palanthas instead.

Straight to High Justice Caladen.

"You may dismount now," said Fenton.

Soth got off his horse and the knights moved in around him.

Mirrel moved in closer too, no doubt to get a better look at him in a
state of disgrace.

Soth saw her standing there, just a few feet away, separated by a ring
of Knights of Solamnia.

Lucky for her, thought Soth.

If not for the knights, she might have already been dead by his hand.

* * * * *

The mood inside the Hall of High Justice was somber.

Despite there being many windows along the walls of the hall, little
light would shine in until much later in the day.

For now the hall was a shadowy place and that cast a pall over the
proceedings.

Lord Caladen sat on a great chair that looked almost like a throne. To
his left was a young Crown knight, or perhaps just a squire, whose job
it would be to make records of the proceedings. To his right was Rose
Knight Drey Hallack, who served as an advisor to Lord Caladen on matters
of the Oath and the Measure--a subject he had spent most of his life
studying.

Farther to the right sat Lord Cyril Mordren, the High Clerist and Olthar
Uth Wistan, High Warrior of the Knights of Solamnia. They would not be
participating in the inquiry, but were present to show their solidarity
with and support for Lord Caladen. An empty chair sat at the far right
in honor of Solamnic Grand Master Leopold Gwyn Davis, who had recently
died after a long illness. A Grand Circle of Knights was being organized
to elect Davis's successor, but the gathering, which required at least
three quarters of the established circles of knights to send two knights
representatives to vote, was still many months away.

Over to the left of Lord Caladen sat seven Knights of Solamnia--two
Crown, two Sword and three from the order of the Rose--whose simple
majority vote would decide the fate of the accused.

Seeing the Hall of High Justice set up for a hearing told Soth that
things were far more grave than he had imagined.

If he had been called to Palanthas on a simple matter of a breach of the
knight's code, an audience with the high justice alone would have
sufficed. The presence of the seven-knight jury told him the charges
were much more severe. The only other time Soth had seen a juried
hearing had been when one knight had been charged with the murder of
another.

Obviously Soth had been accused of murder. Luckily, although he'd been
taken prisoner by his escorts, he was still considered innocent until
his peers had cause to find him guilty.

Lord Caladen raised his right hand and the murmur that had been a
constant background noise in the hall slowly died down.

Soth remained standing in front of the high justice, his shoulders
squared and his chest thrust proudly forward.

He would concede nothing to his accusers.

"Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep," said Lord Caladen. "You have been
called to the Hall of High Justice to answer questions in an official
inquiry into the death, and circumstances surrounding the death, of your
wife, Lady Korinne Soth and her newborn child."

A collective gasp swept through the hall as the rumors were finally laid
to rest and the reason for Soth's summons was made known to all.

Soth felt his face grow hot as his blood began to roil in anger within
him. It was only an inquiry, but he could still be found guilty as a
result of the information that came to light. And even if he was cleared
of any wrongdoing, his good name would be tarnished for all time by the
mere accusation. When this was over, he vowed, those responsible would
be made to pay.

A heavy, heavy price.

"A great tragedy," said Soth, his voice even and noncommittal.

"One that has wounded me deeply." He paused. "I had wanted nothing more
than to forget the catastrophe, and had begun the journey down that
path." He paused again. "But of course, in the interest of justice I
will answer any questions you may have. Then this matter will be put to
rest in my mind, heart and soul."

Lord Caladen nodded.

The sound of voices rose in volume until the high justice leaned over to
the recording secretary and asked for silence.

"Silence!" cried the recording secretary.

Once again, the hall grew quiet.

"Lord Soth," began Lord Caladen. "There seem to be those who believe
that Lady Korinne did not die while in the process of birthing her
child."

"People are entitled to their opinions, however vile," said Soth.

"They say that instead of dying naturally during the birth, she was
murdered by a blade after the fact."

There was another collective gasp. This time it was peppered with
whispers of, "No."

"An opinion entirely without merit."

Lord Caladen brought his hands up in front of his chest and brought them
together as if in prayer. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps not."

Soth was silent.

"Most interesting of all is that those who believe Korinne and the child
to have been murdered have also made known their beliefs about who it
was that wielded the deadly broadsword."

"And who might that be?"

Lord Caladen drew in a breath. "You, Lord Soth."

The doors of The Drookit Duck burst open and a young man ran into the
tavern, frantic and out of breath.

"You're liable to bust a button running like that," laughed Caradoc.

"Are you the knights who arrived with Lord Soth?" asked the young man
when he was able to speak the words.

Caradoc put down his tankard. "We are. What of it?"

"Lord Caladen has just accused your lord of murder in the death of Lady
Korinne and the child."

"What?"

"Lies!"

"A joke, surely?" cried the other knights, incredulous at the news.

All except for Caradoc.

Upon hearing the inevitable news, he simply lifted his tankard and took
another sip of ale.

"I did no such thing!" shouted Soth, his voice strong and unwavering. "I
loved my wife dearly and would never have done anything to hurt her." He
glanced around the hall. "What gypsy would make such a wild and
unfounded accusation? Who dares make such an outrageously damaging
claim?"

"Lady Korinne's former lady-in-waiting for one," answered Lord Caladen.

Soth laughed contemptuously while shaking his head.

"Would you take the word of a simple maid over a Knight of the Rose, a
man sworn to live his life by the strict code of the Oath and the
Measure?"

"No," replied Lord Caladen. "Young Mirrel's words were not enough to
convince me to begin these proceedings.

There were others."

The high justice gestured to a knight standing guard at the back of the
hall. The knight left the hall and a moment later he returned, leading
an elderly elf-woman through the crowd toward the high justice.

Soth recognized the old woman and felt a brush of relief. He had saved
the woman's life and rescued her party from a band of ogres. Surely, she
would be moved to speak well of him.

"What is your name?" asked the recording secretary.

"Olsla," said the old woman. "Olsla Stirling."

"And would you please tell me what you know about Lord Soth and his
relationship with his former wife Lady Korinne?"

The elf-woman looked at Soth, her eyes narrowing slightly. A clear sign
of derision.

Soth realized that the woman was likely upset that he had stolen Isolde
out from under her nose. He wasn't aware that she had come looking for
Isolde, but that is what he guessed must have happened.

"Many months ago," the elderly woman began. "I journeyed to Dargaard
Keep to reunite Isolde Denissa with her fellow elf-maids."

"Why had she been taken there?" asked Lord Caladen.

"She had been whisked to the keep by Lord Soth in order to receive
attention from the healer of Dargaard Keep."

"So Lord Soth saved her life?"

"I cannot say. He might have. Then again, she might have lived even
without his help. What I can say for certain is that when I tried to
bring Isolde back home to Silvanesti, she refused to rejoin our party."

"Why was that?" "She told me she had decided to remain in the keep. She
said that Lord Soth needed her there."

Lord Caladen nodded. "Why was that?"

"Apparently, he found comfort with her"--the elf woman's voice cracked
slightly--"because his wife could not bear him a child."

The hall suddenly became very noisy.

"Ridiculous!" bellowed Soth. "If I am to be charged with such a serious
crime, I expect such charges to be backed up by more credible witnesses
than a former laundress and a senile old elf-woman." He turned to face
the crowd.

"It is their word against the word of a Knight of Solamnia, a knight of
the highest order possible." "Hear, hear!" shouted several in the hall
who were obviously pro-Soth.

"Agreed," said Lord Caladen, who waited for the noise to die down before
continuing. "Agreed. Would you then accept the word of Istvan the
healer, the only man who was present when Lady Korinne gave birth to the
child?"

Soth was at first surprised by the mention of the healer's name as he
was unaware that Istvan had made the trip to Palanthas. But knowing that
Istvan would soon be speaking on his behalf allowed him to breathe a
heavy sigh of relief. Istvan was loyal to him alone, had been loyal to
the Soth family for decades. He would surely corroborate Soth's claim of
innocence.

"Absolutely, Lord Caladen. The word of Istvan should be the final word
on this matter so it may be settled without doubt, once and for all."
"Agreed," Lord Caladen said. "Bring in the healer."

Again Lord Caladen gestured to the knight standing guard at the rear of
the hall. Moments later, the hunched figure of Istvan was led through
the crowd of people.

Soth nodded toward Istvan as he passed, but the healer did not return
the gesture as his frightened eyes were focussed on the high justice.

"What is your name?" asked Lord Caladen.

"Istvan," he said. "Istvan, the healer."

"Do you go by any other names?"

"No."

"You are the healer of Dargaard Keep?"

"Yes?"

"Did you treat the elf-maid Isolde Denissa when she was brought to the
keep?"

"Yes."

"And what did you make of her injuries?" "Well," said Istvan,
hesitating. "Well, she was quite severely injured and, I might add, if
Lord Soth hadn't brought her to me when he had, she might not be alive
today."

Soth cracked a slight smile. Istvan was part of Soth's inner circle. If
the high justice thought he could persuade Istvan to speak afoul of him,
the man was grossly mistaken.

Lord Caladen's face remained impassive as he continued questioning
Istvan. "You also were present when Lady Korinne gave birth to her child
in the keep?"

"Yes."

Lord Caladen inhaled a breath. "Did she and the child survive the birth,
or did she die while in the process of giving birth?"

Again Istvan hesitated a moment. "It was a difficult pregnancy and Lady
Korinne was in pain almost daily as the child came to term.
Unfortunately, the pain became too much for her and she died while
giving birth to the child.

Sadly, as a result of further complications, the child died as well."

Voices grew louder at the back of the room.

Soth smiled broadly. If the only eyewitness to the birth said Korinne
had died birthing the child, then the high justice would have no option
but to issue a full and public apology for this travesty. Soth would be
dismissed at once.

But Lord Caladen did not look to be satisfied with Istvan's statements.
It was as if he didn't believe what the healer was saying. Then he
looked over at Soth and saw the wide smile on the knight's face.

"I warn you, Istvan. As healer of Dargaard Keep, you are bound to live
by the code of ethics outlined in the Oath and the Measure."

"Of course, milord."

"Then you understand that it is a grave breech of honor to tell a
falsehood, especially in such a place as the Hall of High Justice."

"Yes, of course."

"Good. Then you would be more than happy to take part in a little test
that will settle once and for all the fact that you are indeed telling
the truth."

Istvan had been backed into a corner. He had no other choice but to
agree. "As you wish," he said.

Soth glanced around, wondering what in the name of Paladine was going
on.

Lord Caladen raised his right hand and beckoned someone in the crowd to
come forward. A short, thin figure wearing dirty white and yellow robes
moved away from the crowd.

"A mage?" said Soth. "What sort of game is this?"

"No game, Lord Soth. Only a search for the truth."

"But if I'm not mistaken, this"--he gestured to the man in the white and
yellow robes--"is a mage. Surely you are aware of the fact that magic
has been outlawed by the Kingpriest of Istar. What purpose can this mage
serve in the Hall of High Justice?"

Lord Caladen waited for silence, then spoke. "Not all magic has been
banned by the Kingpriest. Some magic, that which has as its purpose the
promotion of Good, the quest for truth and knowledge, is still
sanctioned."

"But I don't--" stammered Soth.

"If Istvan is telling the truth, then he won't be troubled by having
this good mage cast a spell of truth over him, since it will only serve
to prove that his words are truthful."

Soth too had been caught by his own words, just as Istvan had been
before. If he argued the matter it would seem as if he had something to
hide. But, if he readily agreed to the test and the spell proved
successful, the truth would become known to all.

He couldn't risk it.

"I protest Lord Caladen, Istvan has already spoken--"

"And you have said that you would accept what the healer said as being
the final word on this matter. Now remain quiet and let the healer
speak." He nodded in the direction of the mage.

The mage pulled back his right sleeve to reveal a glassy blue stone in
his hand. It was connected to a leather thong that was wrapped tightly
about his fingers. He moved the stone closer to Istvan and it suddenly
began to glow with a strange incandescent light. The mage began mumbling
a series of words and guttural tones. After several minutes the mage
nodded to Lord Caladen, then stepped back, leaving Istvan standing
absolutely rigid, his eyes staring blankly at the far end of the hall.

"Istvan is now under the power of a truth spell and is unable to tell a
lie, even if he so wishes," Lord Caladen said to the people within the
hall. It was obvious he wanted to show that no trickery was being used
and that the spell hadn't been cast simply in order to make Istvan say
what the high justice wanted to hear. "Istvan, I'm going to ask you a
question and I want you to answer by saying the word green."

Istvan nodded.

"What color is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Very good."

"Now, Istvan, when Lord Soth brought Isolde Denissa to Dargaard Keep,
were her injuries life-threatening?"

"No."

"How so?"

"Her injuries would have healed simply with the passage of time."

The hall was silent.

"When you assisted Lady Korinne in the birth of her child, did she
survive that birth?"

"Yes. She was in fine health. In fact, the child's birth eased her pain
considerably."

Dead silence.

"And what of the child? Did it survive the birth?"

"Yes. It survived. Only it was hideously deformed."

"If mother and child survived the birth, then how did they both come to
die a short time later?"

"Soth entered my chambers and sent me from the room.

When I saw him again he reported to me that they had both died during
the birth." The silence continued.

"Did anyone else enter the room after you allowed Lord Soth into the
chamber?"

"No."

"What did the bodies look like when you saw them next?"

"Hacked to bits. It was hard to recognize any of the; pieces as being
human."

Lord Caladen took a breath and nodded to the mage.

The wizard stepped forward and released Istvan from the spell.

Istvan looked about the room as if he were unsure of what had happened.

Soth had watched the proceedings with his mouth agape, unable to say a
word. Now he simply stood defiantly, shoulders straight, lips tight,
chin thrust forward-- a classic portrait of the noble and gallant Knight
of Solamnia.

However, the image of the great knight, of strength and gallantry, did
little to mask the truth.

Soth was a murderer.

"Knights of Solamnia," said Lord Caladen, addressing the seven knights
in the jury. "You've heard the words of Istvan the healer, words spoken
under the power of a spell of truth. How do you judge the accused?"

The seven knights spoke quietly between themselves for several moments
before Lord Walter Dukane, a Knight of the Rose, stood up and addressed
the high justice.

"Guilty on all counts," said Lord Dukane. "By a unanimous vote."

Lord Caladen nodded solemnly, then turned slowly to face Soth. "Loren
Soth," he said, stripping Soth of the title of Lord Soth. "I hereby find
you to be in gross defiance of the Oath and the Measure and guilty of
the murders of your wife and child, crimes punishable by death. You are
to be immediately held in custody and will be duly executed at a public
beheading in the center of Palanthas at precisely noon tomorrow."

Soth, his face a rigid mask devoid of any emotion, was led from the hall
by way of a side door.

At the rear of the hall, people shook their heads in disbelief.

Several others wept.

Chapter 23.

A kender father stood on the front steps of his cottage on the outskirts
of the village of Mid-O-Hylo, watching the fog-like clouds descend from
the high mountains in the west and the low mountains in the east.

The light gray mist was covering the land in a shroud that, unlike other
fogs he had seen, seemed very dark and gloomy.

"What's happening father?" asked the kender's young son as he ran up the
path toward the cottage, his ponytail bobbing and swishing behind him.

"Something." "What something?" asked the boy.

"Something," repeated the kender. "But what something, I do not know."

"Something strange, I bet," said the boy, watching the mist continue to
invade the lands surrounding the village, further blotting out the light
from the sun.

"Yes," said the kender.

"Something weird, I'd say."

"Yes."

"It reminds me a lot of the snowy crystal glass I found in the hand of
that sleeping knight on our last trip to Thelgaard." The elder kender
said nothing, his eyes fixed on the mist. The swirling tendrils of
smoke-like fog seemed to have taken hold of him, quashing his usually
carefree attitude.

It was an attitude that had served him well for all of his years, even
when things had looked most grim.

For the first time in his life, the kender knew fear.

"Get inside the cottage," the kender told his son.

"But this is creepy, father," said the young one. "Can't we stay out and
watch the fog some more?"

The kender began to step backward in the direction of his home. His son,
however, remained where he stood, waving his hand through the mist as if
trying to catch it between his fingers.

"All right," said the father. "You can stay outside and watch it if you
like, but I'm going inside to watch it through the windows. It looks
even spookier that way."

"Spookier?" said the youngster. "I want to see. Let me in."

The young kender gleefully ran into the house, followed closely by his
somber father.

When they were both inside, the father shut the door and locked it tight
for the first time since he'd installed the shiny brass lock that he'd
found improperly appreciated in the door of a tavern in Caergoth.

He knew he was insulting the door's purpose by locking it, but he was
much too afraid of the overspreading doom-filled pall to care.

Chapter 24.

"Obviously, there has been some grace error in justice," said Caradoc,
standing before the knights in The Drookit Duck, one foot on his chair
and another atop the table.

"Injustice indeed," cried one of the knights. He couldn't tell which one
of the knights had spoken, and therefore couldn't tell if the words were
said in support or condemnation of Lord Soth.

Most of the knights were still in shock over what had transpired. They
had journeyed to Palanthas on a matter of routine business, only to have
their leader sentenced to death.

It seemed like madness.

After all, Lord Soth was the epitome of everything the Knights of
Solamnia stood for, a shining example of everything that was good and
honorable about the knighthood.

But there were those among the knights who were beginning to question
their lord. And with good reason.

They had seen the elf-maid Isolde Denissa after the ogre attack and
although none had said so at the time, many thought it odd that Soth
insisted he bring her back to the keep. And then there was the
sentencing itself. Soth had been questioned in the Hall of High Justice
and found guilty by seven fellow Knights of Solamnia. Unanimous
decisions in such matters were rare, so the outcome of the proceedings
had to be respected. And what of the high justice? Would he sentence a
Knight of Solamnia, a Knight of the Rose, to death, if such action
wasn't warranted?

Caradoc considered the death sentence against Lord Soth. If Soth were
gone, it might clear the way for Caradoc himself to take control of the
keep. An intriguing possibility, but unlikely. As a base of operations
for the Knights of the Rose, Dargaard Keep would likely be taken over by
another Rose knight and Caradoc would quickly fade into the background
as an anonymous Knight of the Crown.

No, his status was tied indelibly to the fate of Lord Soth and, even if
Soth were disgraced, it would be better to be his seneschal than just
another Knight of Solamnia.

In the interim, the gathered knights had begun to mutter and grumble,
and Caradoc sensed an insurgence gaining momentum. He could not let such
thoughts take up root in the minds of his fellow knights. If he did, all
hope of Soth returning to Dargaard Keep would be lost.

"There isn't one of us who doesn't owe his life to Lord Soth," he said.
"I know he's saved mine several times and I suspect the same holds true
for all of us."

The majority of knights were leaning toward supporting Caradoc, but
there were still a few who remained unconvinced.

"You, Knight Krejlgaard," continued Caradoc. "Did he not pull you from
the darkest depths of the Vingaard River after you fell from your mount
during a crossing?"

The Crown knight lowered his head and was silent.

"Meyer Seril, didn't Lord Soth provide food for your family when their
entire crop was destroyed by locusts?" "Aye," said Seril. "That he did."

"And you, Derik Grimscribe, didn't our lord sponsor your petition to the
knighthood when all the others felt you too weak for the order?"

"I'm ashamed to admit I had forgotten," said Grimscribe.

"Seems many of us have!" shouted Caradoc. "And we should all be ashamed
for doubting--even for a second-- the innocence of our lord. For I know,
with a certainty and a strength of conviction I have never felt before
on any matter"--Caradoc paused and lowered the volume of his voice--"if
one of us had been found guilty of such a crime and sentenced to death,
Lord Soth wouldn't be wasting time debating our guilt or innocence."

The knights spoke among themselves and it appeared to Caradoc that he
had managed to persuade the last few dissenters to see the other side of
the sword.

"What have you got in mind, Knight Caradoc?" asked Colm Farold.

Caradoc looked right and left even though the tavern had been cleared
and no one was in the room except for his fellow knights. Still, he
spoke in a hushed voice. "I propose we rescue him."

"But he's being guarded by knights such as ourselves," said Farold.

"Tonight, he is. Yes," said Caradoc. "But perhaps not so tomorrow
morning."

Farold nodded. "I'm with you."

The confidence and conviction exhibited by Farold seemed to inspire the
others.

"I'm with you as well," said Meyer Seril.

"And I," nodded Derik Grimscribe.

Until one by one, all of Soth's knights were in agreement.

* * * *

The morning sun was nowhere to be seen. It remained hidden behind a
layer of dark and heavy clouds that caused the night's darkness to
linger far longer than usual.

To add to the chill in the air, a cold wind was blowing in over the Bay
of Branchala, something more than a few residents of Palanthas
interpreted as an omen, convincing them to spend the day indoors. Others
simply refused to watch, not wanting their memory of the gallant knight
to be tainted by the humiliating spectacle of a public execution.

Still, the majority of people had braved the wet and cold and ventured
out to watch the beheading. Already, the streets were lined with
citizens from all classes, from clerics and merchants, to tradesmen and
laborers. Fruit vendors were doing an especially brisk business,
suddenly finding eager customers for all their wares, even the most
rotten of fruits, vegetables and eggs.

Soth was awakened at dawn and offered a final meal of bread and water,
which he refused. Then he was led onto the back of a cart, stripped down
to the waist and chained by the wrists to a heavy timber post that rose
up from the center of the cart's wooden floor.

The knights entrusted with the task of preparing Soth for transport
seemed to be unenthusiastic about their work. Indeed they almost treated
the job with disdain, saying nothing to the disgraced knight and
avoiding looking directly into his eyes. Here was one of their own, one
of the greatest Knights of Solamnia, reduced to the level of a common
criminal.

In their hearts, the question as to whether Soth was guilty or not was
of little consequence. He was a Knight of the Rose and he deserved a
better fate. But in their minds, the knights knew that the Oath and the
Measure had little sympathy for knights who strayed from the path. And
to that end, it is even written in the Measure that knights must be more
severely punished for their crimes than the common man because anything
less would hurt the collective reputation of all knights.

For that reason, the Solamnic Knights tending to Soth on the morning of
his execution wanted nothing more than to complete their task quickly
and be done with it.

Soth understood this and made it easier on them by saying nothing as
they secured him to the post.

At last it was done and his wrists were securely bound and fixed to the
top of the post. Soth made a token effort to pull himself free, but knew
that any decent squire could have done a proper job of securing him.

As the knights collected their things, one lingered behind. He was a
young Crown knight by the look of his clothes, but nothing else about
the man was familiar to Soth, most likely because he was recently
petitioned to the knighthood.

He looked at Soth, a hint of sorrow in his eyes.

"Paladine have mercy on your soul," he said.

Soth looked at the young man and realized that he had probably been
suckling at his mother's breast when Soth first became a Solamnic
Knight. The thought of this bey taking pity on him, angered Soth to no
end.

He laughed at the young knight, then said, "No, boy.

May Paladine have mercy on yours!"

The knight looked shaken by Soth's words, stumbling as he got off the
cart.

Soth continued to laugh.

*****

Soth's loyal knights had been up for hours, making plans by lamplight
until the sun's rays were bright enough to properly illuminate the
secluded livery stable they'd moved their meeting to in order to avoid
being watched or overheard by spies of the high justice.

What they planned to do would not be easy. Had Soth been taken prisoner
by a band of ogres, or barbarians, or been placed under some spell by a
pack of goblins, his rescue would have likely been a simple matter.

But instead, he was the prisoner of the Knights of Solamnia. His
followers would have virtually no advantage because the knights they
would be pitting themselves against were just as skilled as they were.
And to make matters worse, there would be more guards than rescuers,
making the chances of freeing Soth unharmed very slim indeed.

They had discussed tactics long into the night and it was Caradoc who
finally came up with something that might tip the scales in their favor.
"We are Knights of Solamnia, are we not?"

"Yes, of course," the knights agreed.

"And it is assumed that we will accept Soth's fate and conduct ourselves
according to the Oath and the Measure."

The knights were silent, awaiting Caradoc's next words.

"Well then, any attempt to free our lord would come as a surprise since
none would expect us to reject the decision of the high justice."

The knights remained silent, considering it.

Finally, Wersten Kern spoke. "But what you're saying is that such a
rescue wouldn't be expected because what it amounts to is treason,
something that will likely mark us as outlaws and get us banished from
the Knights of Solamnia."

Caradoc sighed. If Kern was having second thoughts, then some of the
others were as well. That meant that Caradoc had one last chance to
convince the knights of their task. If he failed now Soth would be
doomed. "No, not treason," said Caradoc. "Our rescue will be an act of
tremendous loyalty toward our lord. And in regard to becoming outlaws,
how do you know mat our reputations haven't already been damaged through
our association with Lord Soth? We can't even be sure that we'll be
allowed to leave the city without being put on trial ourselves."

Kern pondered Caradoc's words, then finally nodded.

"Caradoc is right. We're probably already damned in the eyes of the
other knights." A pause. "If that's the case, then

I think using the element of surprise is the best chance we have of
rescuing Lord Soth and leaving Palanthas alive."

The knights muttered agreement.

"All right then," said Caradoc. "Perhaps we should begin working out the
details."

* * * *

The horse cart started with a sudden lurch, then rolled smoothly--if not
noisily--out into the courtyard of the Hall of High Justice. There the
driver stopped to pick up his escort of four mounted knights in highly
polished plate armor, one positioned at each of the cart's corners.

With the knights in place, the cart left the courtyard and began its
journey through the streets of Palanthas.

The layout of the city was like that of a gigantic wheel, with each road
being a spoke leading directly to the hub.

They were currently in Old City, which was made up of the Hall of High
Justice, the ancient library of Astinus, the palace, homes for the
Knights of Solamnia and other structures important to the city's
defense, politics and finances.

In a few minutes the procession passed through the wall that separated
Old City from the newer parts of Palanthas.

On the other side of the wall, the streets were wider and less crowded
and the air seemed fresher, cleaner and infinitely more breathable.

Soth took a deep breath ... And was hit hard on the side of the head by
a rotten egg.

It was the first of many.

*****

The wheel-like layout of Palanthas proved to be of benefit to Soth's
knights. Because all of the city's roads led to its center, each of the
knights could take a different route to the execution site and therefore
inconspicuously arrive as a group and remain unnoticed until it was time
to free Soth and make good their escape.

Meyer Seril had volunteered to follow the route that Lord Soth would be
taking. He joined the procession as it emerged from the wall separating
the old and new cities, then fell into line with the others following.

Despite the fact that Seril had been wearing his helm and looked like
most of the other Knights of Solamnia in the procession, Soth had
recognized the three white stockings on his mount and nodded to Seril as
he passed.

Seril had given a slight nod, acknowledging Soth.

After that, Soth held his head even higher, despite the fact that he was
continuously being pelted with rotten eggs and tomatoes, even several
hardened cakes of dried horse dung.

It broke Seril's heart to see his lord being treated in such a way. When
he saw a commoner to his right throwing an egg--an egg which hit Soth
squarely in the back--Seril moved his horse forward until it was in
front of the offending peasant. Then he pulled hard on his reins,
forcing the horse to miss a step and kick with his hind legs in order to
regain its balance.

The horse's right rear hoof shot up from the ground, catching the man in
the chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying backward
through the air.

Seril looked back and saw him lying flat on his back, struggling to
regain his feet, but unable to do so.

"Beg your pardon," said Seril apologetically. "Are you all right?"

The commoner was too busy trying to catch his breath to answer.

* * * * *

Colm Farold was the first of Soth's knights to arrive at the city's
center square--the execution site. He had traveled in from the southeast
corner of the city and therefore had the shortest distance to cover.
Shortly after Farold, Caradoc

appeared from the road leading in from due south. Then Wersten Kern came
in from the north, leading a second horse by its reins. It was a large
horse, and appeared to be strong enough for the task that would be asked
of it. But despite the horse's obvious size and strength, it lacked the
same lineage as the mounts belonging to the Knights of Solamnia. When
they set out across the Solamnic Plains the horse would inevitably fall
behind. The question was, how long would it be before that happened?

As more of his loyal knights began to appear in the square, Soth seemed
to become more defiant. Indeed, he was standing straighter now and did
not flinch when struck by the rotten projectiles thrown by the angrier
members of the crowd.

His long black hair was tangled and matted, pasted against his dirty
flesh in some spots, but standing up on end and looking as ragged as
wildfire in others. His hard, muscled body was mottled by splotches of
red, green and yellow, giving him the appearance of a barbarian in war
paint rather than a disgraced Knight of the Rose.

The cart Soth was standing on slowly moved into place next to the
execution platform. On the platform, the black helmed executioner
patiently waited for his victim to be brought into position. Although
the sky was still overcast, the executioner's huge double-sided axe
still glinted menacingly in the sunlight that managed to break through
the clouds.

As the cart came to a stop, Caradoc clenched the reins of his mount more
tightly in his fist. It was up to him to give the signal to the rest of
the knights.

Caradoc checked the position of the sun, then made a final survey of the
scene. Off to the right, the higher officials had yet to take the places
that had been set aside for them. There were knights along the fringes
of the crowd, but none seemed to be paying too much attention at present
because nothing much was happening and the thought of Soth attempting to
escape was probably the furthest thing from their minds.

Caradoc looked at each of Soth's knights in turn. Each one nodded
slightly, signifying they were ready. Then he glanced at Lord Soth; he
looked anxious to make good his escape.

Caradoc raised his hands, gesturing at Soth to be patient.

A commotion erupted at one edge of the square as the high justice, high
clerist, and high warrior appeared.

Caradoc waited for them to near their places, then gestured with a
slightly upraised finger to a woman standing on the opposite side of the
square.

"My baby!" she cried. "Someone's taken my baby!"

Attention suddenly swung from one end of the square to the other as
everyone began looking around them in search of the woman's lost child.

Caradoc lifted his hand high in the air, signaling to the other loyal
knights that it was time to make their move.

In seconds Wersten Kern rode up to the execution platform and leaped
onto it. Without hesitation he gripped the executioner's huge
double-sided axe in his left hand and brought his armored right hand
around for a hard blow directly to the executioner's exposed chin.

The man dressed in black stumbled backward, then fell off the platform
onto the people below.

Before the executioner had landed on a single spectator, Kern had swung
the axe around and was chopping at the chains connecting Soth to the
post. After several blows it was obvious it would take too long to cut
through the heavy forged steel.

"Cut the post," urged Soth. "At the bottom."

Seril quickly began directing his efforts on the post itself. Two ...
three ... four blows and the post came free, leaving the bottom of it
splintered with several jagged edges.

Soth immediately grabbed hold of the post and began to swing it like a
club, knocking down the first two Solamnic knights who had climbed onto
the cart in an attempt to stop the escape.

"This way, milord!" shouted Kern, leaping off the platform and onto his
horse.

Soth was still shackled to the post and couldn't hold it anywhere but at
the one end to which he was chained. He did his best to hold it high in
front of him as he leaped from the cart to the platform.

Another knight scrambled up from below the platform.

Soth blocked the knight's sword with the heavy post, but could not move
it quickly enough to use it like a sword.

He blocked another blow from the sword, then swung the post in a long
circular motion, knocking the knight off the platform as if using an arm
to sweep earthenware from the top of a dinner table.

Soth then leaped onto his horse, kicking at the beast's ribs even before
he was settled onto its back. As the horse lunged forward into the
crowd, Soth rested the post on his shoulder, giving his exhausted arms
the chance to recover, but still keeping the makeshift weapon at the
ready.

Colm Farold and the other knights were busy keeping back the Solamnic
Knights of Palanthas. If any broke through their ranks they might be
able to block off Soth's escape route.

Surprise had definitely worked to their advantage.

Several of the Palanthas knights were unprepared for fighting and
hesitant to engage Soth's knights given that they were fully armored and
fighting more fiercely than any opponents the knights of Palanthas had
ever come up against.

As Soth raced through the crowd with Wersten Kern leading the way, a
Palanthas knight rode up alongside Soth.

Soth looked over at the knight and recognized him as Sword knight Eiwon
van Sickle.

"What are you doing?" van Sickle shouted. "You are making a mockery of
the Oath and the Measure."

"According to the high justice, I did that long ago. What more damage
can I possibly do?"

Knight van Sickle raised his sword. "Stop at once and face your destiny
like a true knight!"

Soth laughed at that, his eyes opening wide and filling with a new
bright and fiery madness. "My destiny lies far beyond the walls of this
dying city," he said as he rode through the streets of Palanthas. "One
day my name will be known from Palanthas to Istar, from Ergoth to
Balifor."

"Your destiny lies in Palanthas," said van Sickle.

"Prepare to meet it." The young knight swung his sword with both hands.

Soth held the post up high by his chains, the jagged end pointing to the
ground. The thick wooden post blocked the blow, forcing van Sickle to
raise his sword for another strike.

At the same time, Soth brought the post back and swung it in a great
circle, catching van Sickle squarely in the back. The blow knocked him
forward, over the head of his horse. He hit the ground heavily, was
trampled by the horse, and was lost in a cloud of dust.

Soth hefted the post back onto his shoulder and hurried to catch up with
Kern and the others.

They had cleared the city streets and were now in the open area between
Palanthas and the High Clerist's Tower. Hopefully the knights stationed
there were unaware of what was happening.

Unfortunately, the knights guarding the tower looked to be out and
about. Up ahead, several of them were already looking in Soth's
direction to see what all the commotion was about. No doubt they had
heard the sound of the charging horses. There were also lookouts
positioned in the tower.

If the knights weren't ready for them now, they would be by the time
they reached the tower.

Soth took a moment to look behind him.

There was a party of knights there too, charging hard and appearing to
be gaining ground.

Up ahead, Caradoc rode in the lead of the escaping knights. Colm Farold
struggled to catch up with him.

"There are too many ahead," said Farold breathlessly as he came
alongside Caradoc. "Surely they'll cut us down as we try to break
through their ranks." 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 his 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 rolled 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. "We'll 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.

When 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 parries 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."

"I insist." "I suggest you settle the matter soon," said Caradoc.

"Or neither of you will make it to the keep alive."

Soth looked at Valcic.

Valcic nodded.

Soth mounted the knight's horse.

And was gone.

Darin Valcic turned west to face the oncoming knights.

There were ten knights abreast at the front of the pack maybe more.
Judging by the plume of dust rising up behind them they might have been
six or seven deep, perhaps more than fifty knights in all.

It would be a short battle, but Valcic was determined to put up a fight
worthy of a true Knight of Solamnia.

He drew his sword, held it before him with both hands.

A moment later the knights were upon him.

He held his breath ... And suddenly, the knights parted, riding around
him and leaving him alone on the plains to choke on their dust.

* * * *

Now on a fresh horse, Soth led his knights in the final charge toward
the keep.

He looked very little like the knight who had left Dargaard Keep little
more than a week ago.

He had the appearance of a dirty and disheveled wild man whose clothes
were little more than rags. His muscular upper body was bruised and
stained by the remains of rotten fruit, eggs and dirt that had been
hurled at him in Palanthas. And his long black hair flowed back from his
head like wildfire, putting an air of madness about him.

But despite it all, he still rode erect and proud on his mount, and his
eyes ... His eyes were still as alive and piercing as ever.

Soon the knights clattered across the drawbridge and into the keep. Two
of the horses who had made the trip from Palanthas stumbled their last
few agonizing steps before falling in utter exhaustion.

A moment later the portcullis came crashing down and the drawbridge
slowly began to rise up.

Outside, the pursuing knights brought their horses to a halt at the edge
of the chasm surrounding the keep, then quickly retreated out of the
range of any archers who might be waiting for them on the battlements.

* * * *

"Are we going to lay siege to the keep?" asked Eiwon van Sickle,
regarding the formidable structure before them.

Garrett Fenton looked to Dargaard Keep and then shook his head. "No, I'm
afraid it would take far too long and require too many knights. And to
what purpose?"

"So what are we going to do? Surely, High Justice Caladen isn't going to
allow Soth to get away with his crimes."

"I've received instructions from the high justice. I assure you, he
won't be getting away with anything," Fenton said.

"But how--" "Think about it for a moment," Fenton .

"Soth has lived his life as a revered and respected knight.

Now, news of his crimes will be all over Ansalon in a matter of weeks.
Anywhere he goes he will be called a murderer and mocked as a fallen
knight. For a Knight of Solamnia, especially one of Soth's stature, such
a fate is worse than death itself."

"Yes," said van Sickle. "I can see that." His body seemed to shiver at
the thought. Still, he persisted. "But we can't just let him go." "No,"
Fenton said. "There will be conditions that must be met."

Hours later, he rode slowly toward the keep under the protection of a
white standard. When Fenton reached the bridge, it did not come down.

He remained seated on his mount and laid forth his conditions.

"Loren Soth," he said loudly enough for all those on the west side of
the keep to hear. "You are hereby dishonorably dismissed from the
Knights of Solamnia. Furthermore, if you should ever venture outside the
boundaries of Knightlund it will be the duty of every Knight of Solamnia
to hunt you down like a common criminal and carry out the execution
order of the high justice."

Fenton paused a few moments. "If you understand these terms you may
indicate so in an appropriate manner."

Several minutes passed before a column of pale white smoke rose up from
the uppermost battlement of the keep.

Seeing the smoke, Fenton nodded. "Very well, then. It is done."

The Solamnic Knights turned their horses around and headed back to
Palanthas.

BOOK THREE.

DEAD OF Knight Chapter 27.

"Tell me it's not true!" cried Isolde. "Tell me Korinne died during the
birth and not by your hand!" She had asked the question many times
before, but never in as many words. Now, as he'd done so many times
before, Soth remained silent, unwilling to face her.

"Tell me, please," repeated Isolde, this time on the verge of tears. At
least if he denied it, if he adamantly claimed that some grievous
mistake had been made, there might still be a chance for redemption, a
chance to clear his good name.

His name and hers.

But if it were indeed true, if he had in fact killed his former wife and
child, people would know that she had been carrying his child while he
was still married to Korinne.

Then they would assume that because Isolde had been with child it had
been that much easier for Soth to turn his back on Korinne. Nay, more
than turn his back.

To ... She had trouble with the word.

To kill his wife and newborn child.

If that were true, she would be an accomplice to the murders. She would
be as guilty of the killings as Soth himself.

If it were true.

If Soth was indeed guilty of the crime, he would never regain his status
as one of the greatest Solamnic Knights of all time. Instead he would be
a disgraced knight who would be killed on sight if he ever left the
keep. And she would be similarly disgraced--a subject of ridicule should
she ever venture beyond Dargaard Keep's cold bloodstone walls.

After all, who could pardon such a heinous act? Even the Healing Hand,
Mishakal, would be hard-pressed to forgive such an atrocity.

If it were true.

"Tell me they made a mistake," she pleaded. "Tell me you did not kill
Korinne and the child!"

Soth drew in a long breath, looked Isolde in the eye and spoke to her
directly. "Lady Korinne died as a result of the severely deformed child
that she bore."

Isolde listened intently to the words. They didn't sound like much of a
denial, but Soth's voice was unwavering and it was edged with just a
hint of conviction.

She desperately wanted to believe him. For a moment she thought to ask
him again in order to cull more reassuring words from him, but decided
against it. Those few words would be as much as she would get out of her
husband.

They would have to do.

Especially now.

He had changed so much these past few weeks. His face used to be bright
and quick to smile. He had laughed every so often and had looked
content. Now his face was masked by a shroud of darkness. His eyes, once
alight with passion, now smoldered with loathing for everyone and
everything around him. He constantly grumbled about everything and even
shunned the company of his knights, the same brave men who had literally
snatched him from the brink of death.

They'd saved his life, but they hadn't been able to save his honor. That
had been crushed and with it so too had the man.

If only there was a way to regain his honor, their honor, the honor of
the Soth family name.

Isolde prayed to Mishakal for guidance.

The summer months passed and the keep grew cold and damp. It was as if
the sun never shone on its walls, as if the fires in its hearths were
more smoke than heat.

Soth tried to attend to his duties as he had before, but now there
seemed to be very little for him to do. The people of Knightlund had
turned west to Vingaard Keep for protection from marauders, and for
advice in land and financial disputes.

Soth wasn't surprised. Who would seek the advice of a murderer?
Certainly no one of sound mind. It was something he never thought he
would say, but he longed for the days when he sat in judgment, settling
trivial land claims and disputes over money. At one time he would have
done anything not to have to listen to commoners' petty arguments, but
now he would give everything just to listen to them once more.

He sat in his throne chair in the middle of a large empty room. For some
reason the chair was comfortable now and he could sit in it for hours
without moving, his eyes closed as he relived the past.

"Why don't you go out for a ride?" asked a voice from somewhere in the
shadows.

Soth didn't need to look up. He knew it was Isolde. He did not answer
her.

"Loren?" she called, stepping into the hall.

"What is it?" snapped Soth, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why don't you get out of the keep for a while?"

"And why don't you tend to the child and leave me to my own affairs?"

Isolde was visibly hurt by the sharp words of her husband, but continued
moving forward, undaunted.

"It pains me to see you lingering within the keep like a shadow. I look
at you and I see a ghost from your former life."

"Enough!" shouted Soth, rising from his throne.

But Isolde would not stop. "The knights seem lost, too.

They've looked to you for direction for so long, and suddenly it's
not--" "I said enough!" "You are still a Knight of Solamnia," she
continued.

"You all are. No matter what has happened, you must continue living your
life in accordance with the Oath and the Measure. Anything else for a
knight is the same as death--"

Soth had heard enough. He placed his large hands on Isolde's tiny elven
shoulders and pushed her roughly to the floor.

She hit the cold hard stones with a loud thump, but did not cry out.

Soth looked at her for the longest time, ashamed at what he'd done, and
hating himself for what he had become.

Isolde slowly picked herself up off the floor.

Soth left the hall without saying a word.

Isolde stood up and brushed off her clothes. As she did, a single tear
fell from the corner of her eye. The tear was not for what had happened,
for clearly Soth was not himself these days. Gone was the brave and
valiant warrior, the Soth she'd come to know and love. And in his place
was this dark and brooding man who had forgotten everything for which he
had once stood.

She left the hall and headed for the chapel.

She had been praying to Mishakal for guidance and in a way she had been
guided. She was beginning to feel more certain that she knew what was
required for the benefit of herself, her son Peradur, and for all those
living inside the keep.

Soth needed to find a way in which to redeem himself.

She entered the chapel and knelt down in her familiar place, her legs
covering the darker spots her knees had rubbed into the wood these past
few weeks, and prayed.

She prayed to Mishakal to show her a way in which Soth might find
redemption.

The room had been the healer's chambers for years, but because Istvan
did not return from Palanthas following Soth's hearing, Isolde had
decided the room could be converted to a nursery. Soth had wanted the
room left abandoned, but Isolde had insisted. Further protests on Soth's
part would have required some sort of explanation, so in the end he
reluctantly yielded to her request.

In spite of the memories he tried to bury, Soth found himself coming
here more and more often to spend time with his son, Peradur. One reason
was that he had the time to spend, another was that he felt if he spent
time with the child now, he might be able to prevent his sins from being
passed on as his father's sins had been passed onto him.

He wasn't sure how being with the child might prevent this, but because
Soth's father Aynkell had spent very little time with him as a child,
Soth felt that doing the opposite might produce the opposite result--a
young man whose soul was free of the black marks incurred by the
previous generations.

Whatever the outcome, it was worth the effort given that Soth felt he
couldn't make things any worse for the boy if he tried.

"There's a good boy," he said, the soft tone of his voice sounding
strange coming from such a big man. "A good boy who will one day grow to
be a good knight."

The child smiled.

"A great knight."

The child giggled.

Soth took a small wooden sword from a chest full of toys and
noisemakers. The sword was made of soft fir wood and rounded at each on
all sides in order to prevent the child from accidentally hurting
himself. Soth placed the hilt of the sword in the child's tiny hand and
instinctively his fingers curled around it, holding the sword tightly.

Soth smiled approvingly, his quiet, hissing laughter sounding like steam
from a cauldron. He let go of the sword, allowing Peradur to hold it by
himself. For several seconds he held it aloft as proudly as any champion
knight, but then the blade began to waver until it fell back against the
child's chest. Then, taking hold of it with both hands, Peradur brought
the soft wooden sword to his mouth and began chewing on it.

Again Soth laughed, but his joy was shortlived.

He wanted nothing more than for his son to follow in his footsteps and
become a Knight of Solamnia, keeping the Soth legacy alive for yet
another generation. But now it seemed that dream would never be
realized.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

First of all, the Knights of Solamnia had never accepted a half-elf into
the knighthood. To the best of his knowledge, Soth couldn't even
remember a half-elf serving as a squire. Secondly, while at one time the
Solamnic Knights might have accepted a half-elf whose name was Soth,
those days were over. Because of his deeds and heinous violation of the
Oath and the Measure, it was highly unlikely that any young man carrying
the taint of the Soth name would ever be allowed to join the knighthood.

The boy was barely a few months old and he'd already been judged because
of his father's deed.

Because of the sins of his father.

Soth watched Peradur chew on the sword, his pink gums gnashing against
the wood. As he did so, Soth wondered how could it be that something as
innocent as a child, something that was supposed to bring him such joy,
had only brought him more remorse, greater shame, and above all, such
heartfelt pain.

No sword had ever hurt him like this.

And worst of all, it would be a pain that would never fade with the
passage of time. For what might the child feel toward him when he
finally came of age?

Anger?

Resentment?

Disgust?

Shame?

The thought of it made Soth shiver.

"Excuse me, milord," said a soft voice.

Soth turned and saw the young maid, Jenfer Clinyc, who had been
entrusted with Peradur's care ever since the dismissal of Mirrel. She
stood in the doorway in a way that suggested she knew she was intruding.
Soth liked the girl; she was good with the child, unassuming and
unpretentious around others, and most importantly, was absolutely
devoted to both Isolde and Peradur.

"It's time for the young knight's bath," she said with a smile.

Soth nodded, touched his son's head gently, then rose to his feet. He
took one last look at the child, then turned and left the room.

He walked down the hall and through the keep, heading toward the chapel.
When he arrived, he eased the door open.

He was surprised to find Isolde there, but let none of it show. Instead
he quietly stepped into the chapel and knelt down by her side.

Whispering under his breath, he began to pray to Paladine, patron of the
Knights of the Rose and spiritual father of the Knights of Solamnia, to
bring some light and hope into his life.

Chapter 28.

The roar of the flames was deafening.

Every stick of wood in the keep seemed to be alight, crawling with
orange flames that licked at the walls like the tongue of some great
serpent.

And then, in the midst of the fire, a voice.

"Father!" came the cry.

The call of his son, Peradur.

Soth ran through the burning keep, his eyes stinging from the smoke, his
clothes clinging to his damp skin.

"Peradur!" he called into the midst of the flames.

"Father, over here!"

Soth moved forward.

Suddenly he felt an intense heat burning his back. He spun around and
saw his cloak trailing behind him, burning as brightly as a
tallow-soaked torch. He tore the clasp from his neck and threw the cloak
to the ground where it was immediately engulfed in flames.

"Father! Where are you father?"

"I'm here!" he answered. "I'm coming!"

He drew his broadsword and used it to cut a swath through the flames and
burning timbers that had fallen from the ceiling.

Finally he reached the nursery. It billowed with smoke the flames chewed
their way across the rafters supporting the room's ceiling.

"Father, save me!"

Soth was in tears from the smoke and could barely see more than the few
feet in front of him.

"Father, help me! Please!"

He moved forward, being drawn by the sound of his son's voice.

Suddenly, there it was--the cradle. He had made it. He took a final few
steps and looked inside the cradle.

The hag-like face of the witch smiled up at him.

"Father, help me!" the witch cried out, the young boy's voice suddenly
sounding hideous coming from such an Ugly, gap-toothed mouth. She
laughed wickedly, the cackle cutting through the roar of the fire like a
sword through the leg of an ogre.

Soth recoiled in horror and screamed from the utter depths of his soul.

"No!"

* * * *

She was floating.

Light shone all around her, a soft glow warming her from the inside out.

And a voice.

A beautiful voice was speaking to her.

Isolde heard it not with her ears, but with her mind.

It was telling her softly, so softly, what must be done.

And she understood.

And then there came a sound so loud and sharp that the dream shattered
around her like glass. Isolde looked sleepily around the room, certain
that the ground had shook and that the walls were about to topple.

"No ..."

The shout contained a measure of sorrow along with terror. Isolde rolled
over and realized the cries had come from her husband.

"Loren, wake up!" she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and
shaking him.

No effect.

She shook him harder. "Wake up!"

Soth's eyes blinked open and he gasped for air. His face was a pale
shade of white and damp with sweat. His wide eyes darted around the room
as if he were familiarizing himself with his surroundings.

"It's all right," said Isolde. "It was just a dream, a bad, bad dream.
Like before."

"No," whispered Soth. "No. This was worse. This was terrible, horrible."

"What was it about? What happened?"

"No." He shook his head. "It was too horrible. I'd rather forget it than
have to go through it again."

"Perhaps that might be best," Isolde nodded. She looked at him for the
longest time, drying his face with a bedsheet as she gathered the
strength to say the words. Finally she took a deep breath and said, "I
had a dream as well."

"I hope to Paladine it was less disturbing than mine." "It was," said
Isolde. "In fact, it was a revelation."

"Really?" Soth rolled onto his side to face her. "Tell me."

Isolde smiled. "You know I have been praying to Mishakal to show me a
way in which you can redeem yourself," she said.

"Yes," said Soth. "You have told me of your prayers."

"Well, tonight I believe they were finally answered."

Soth looked at her for several seconds. She smiled at him again, but
remained silent. At last he prodded her, "Please, tell me more."

"It wasn't a nightmare at all," Isolde began. "It felt warm and
comfortable and wonderful. And a voice spoke to me, a female voice. I'm
sure it was Mishakal herself."

Soth was skeptical. As benevolent as Mishakal was-- she was called the
Healing Hand, after all--he doubted that she would trouble herself to
speak directly to a mere mortal. But as he studied the countenance of
Isolde, the absolute conviction in her expression was too strong to be
so easily dismissed. He decided to open up his mind and listen carefully
to her account. "What did the voice say?"

"I didn't understand it all." She shook her head. "Some parts didn't
make any sense to me."

"If you could repeat exactly what the voice said, then perhaps I might
be able to make sense of it."

"I suppose I could try." She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Her eyelids fluttered and her thin lips trembled as they parted
slightly. Suddenly her eyes opened and she began speaking as if someone
or something was speaking through her.

"The former Knight of Solamnia named Soth," the voice said, "can redeem
himself and his followers by journeying to the Temple of the Kingpriest
in Istar."

Shocked but nevertheless intrigued, Soth leaned closer to Isolde so he
might hear her better.

"Once there, he must confront the Kingpriest and order him to abdicate
from the position or suffer the wrath of the gods."

Isolde's mouth closed and for several seconds she was still and quiet.
But then after a deep breath she--or whoever was using Isolde as a
messenger--began speaking again.

"The Kingpriest will refuse and will strike down Soth with a bolt of
lightning. But that will not be the end of Soth's quest. By the grace of
the gods Paladine and Mishakal, he will rise again in order to continue
the fight.

Each time the Kingpriest dispatches him to the netherworld, Soth will
rise up again, more powerful than the last time until his strength and
power are sufficient to finally lay the Kingpriest to rest."

Isolde seemed to grow tired, but Soth knew enough not to disturb her
until she was done.

"When that is accomplished, when the Kingpriest is gone from the face of
Krynn, only then will Soth be allowed to pass in peace from this world
to the next."

Soth drew in a long breath.

"If he fails, all of Krynn will suffer for the arrogance of the
Kingpriest. The skies will burn, the land will heave Life as we know it
will be changed forever. This event will come to be known as the
Cataclysm."

Isolde's eyes closed again, but this time she fell back onto the bed,
exhausted.

Soth gathered her in his arms and held her tight, stroking her hair and
face until she awakened.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so," said Isolde, putting a hand to her head. "I remember
hearing a strange voice, something about the Kingpriest and forces of
great destruction ..."

Soth nodded.

"Then it's true," Isolde said, suddenly gaining strength.

"Mishakal has shown us a way to redemption. After you've completed the
quest you can rejoin the knighthood and everything will be the way it
was before." She shook her head as her eyes grew wide. "No, even better
than it was before."

Her smile slowly faded as she realized that Soth wasn't sharing her
excitement.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "What is it?"

"It's the nature of the quest."

"What about it?" Soth sighed. Obviously Isolde had simply acted as a
messenger of the gods and was unaware of what was contained in the
message.

"I must battle the Kingpriest of Istar," said Soth in a tone that
suggested he was doomed.

"What is the problem? You are a Knight of the Rose, a great warrior."

Perhaps, but I am no match for the likes of the Kingpriest."

"Then you can prepare yourself for the battle, undergo special
training."

Soth shook his head. "You don't understand." He still didn't want to say
it, but he was finding it more and more difficult to avoid the
inevitable. "If I accept this quest, the only time my soul will ever be
allowed to rest in peace is when I finally rid Krynn of the Kingpriest."
"I still don't understand," said Isolde. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the only way I can successfully complete this quest and
save the world from destruction is to sacrifice my own life in the
process."

Isolde's lips moved, but she was unable to make a sound.

Chapter 29.

On Saticrist Island ... The gnomes and humans watched in awe as the
normally blue skies above the island roiled and blackened while the
long-dormant volcano beneath Mount Nevermind began to rumble uneasily.

In Qualinesti ... Unstoppable brushfires burned through Wayreth Forest,
earing up vast tracts of healthy oaks, maples, ash and vallenwood trees,
as well as the fruit-laden orchards of apple, peach and pear trees.

In Silvanesti ... Fires raged through the fabled Silvanesti Woods, the
intense flames and black smoke blocking out all evidence of the sun.

In Ergoth .., Water flowed through the lands in and around the city of
Daltigoth, flooding farms and forests alike, but also washing away homes
and buildings, many of which had stood for centuries.

In Istar ... People scurried to find a safe place to hide from the
flooding red tides that began to wash through the city's streets like
blood after a hard and long-fought battle.

In Solamnia ... The wind began to pick up over the plains, churning the
waters of the Vingaard River and blowing sand and dust across the
sun-dried earth as if in an attempt to scour it clean.

Chapter 30.

"It is a heavy price to pay," said Soth.

"I know," said Isolde calmly. "But think of the change it could bring,
if not for all the people of Krynn, then for your son."

Soth wasn't as disappointed by Isolde's words as he was surprised. Since
she'd had the vision, she had been steadfast in her conviction. She
desperately wanted him to travel to Istar and give up his life in order
to prevent the coming Cataclysm. Soth wasn't afraid of sacrificing his
life for others because his current life wasn't worth all that much to
him. What surprised him was Isolde's seeming lack of concern about what
her life would be like without him.

"And what of you and our son? Will you have the strength to go on
without me in your life?"

Isolde moved forward and hugged him long and hard.

"It will be so very hard, and I don't know if I'll be able to live
without you, but I must try to be strong." She paused.

"For I do know that when you succeed, you will forever be a part of both
of our lives because we will have you to thank for them."

Tears streamed from Isolde's eyes as she held him tight.

Soth thought about her words. It was true what Isolde had said. If he
succeeded, all the people of Krynn would have him to thank for their
lives.

But what of Isolde and the boy? She seemed heartbroken that he would
never be coming back, yet was so brave enough to admit that it was for
the best.

At last the scales had been tipped.

Soth would travel to Istar.

  *   * *

"But to give his life--" said Derik Grimscribe, chewing on a piece of
day-old bread.

"To do so in order to save all of Krynn from death and destruction,"
interjected Colm Farold between sips of tea.

"Certainly that is a worthy enough reason to make such a sacrifice."

The knights sat around a rectangular table discussing the latest news.
Apparently their lord had been shown a way to redeem himself, restore
his good family name and become a hero equal in stature to the great
Huma himself.

But while most of the knights were eager to have the honor of their lord
restored to its full and even greater glory, there were those who were
skeptical about the vision and the quest it proposed.

Perhaps it was the messenger of whom they were wary.

Not all of the knights were as taken by Isolde Denissa as Soth was.

Perhaps it was the price Soth had to pay in order to complete the quest.
Why did Soth have to die at the hands of the Kingpriest? Couldn't the
Cataclysm be avoided in a way that wouldn't cost Soth his life?
Questions had arisen that caused some of the knights to doubt the
validity of the vision, and suggested to them that it was all an
elaborate ruse concocted by the high justice to carry out the death
sentence imposed upon Soth. Others felt it was a vision sent by the
Kingpriest himself because Soth was probably the only knight who was
strong enough and brave enough to stop the priest's bid to take his
place among the gods.

"He's being used as a pawn in a power struggle that doesn't concern
him," said Grimscribe.

"No," countered Farold. "He's being given a chance to save himself and
the knighthood."

"Save himself," laughed Grimscribe. "How can you say that if he must
give up his life in order to succeed?"

"Because if he is successful and saves Krynn from the Cataclysm, he will
not have died in vain. He will live forever, a hero to all."

* * * * *

Soth knocked on the door of the knights' chambers for Wersten Kern and
Meyer Seril. It was a big room with the space needed to store their
armor, swords, shields and other personal belongings. There was a bed at
each end of the room and a desk in the center for reading and writing.
There was also a table and two chairs in between the beds.

Kern and Seril were both seated at the table, passing the time by
playing a board game called Briscopa that had apparently become quite
popular in Palanthas.

The two knights looked up at Soth and he bowed slightly, realizing that
he was intruding upon their leisure time.

"Please excuse the intrusion." "No intrusion at all," said Seril.

"Please come in, milord," said Kern.

"Thank you." He stepped into the room and sat on the bed between them.
He looked at Meyer Seril. "Excuse me, Knight Seril, but the reason I'm
here is to ask something of Knight Kern." "Of course," said Seril,
getting up from his seat. "We can finish the game anytime."

Soth waited until Seril had left the room before speaking.

"I've decided to take on the quest," he said, his voice still somewhat
unsteady, as if he were still trying to accept his own decision. "I will
be setting out for Istar in the morning"--he paused for a
heartbeat--"and I'd like you to join me."

Kern was speechless.

"Understand that while I am asking this, the decision to accompany me is
completely voluntary. If you wish to remain in the keep, no one will
ever know of your decision and I will not look upon you with any
disfavor." Kern still said nothing.

"The only others I have asked to join me are Caradoc and Colm Farold.
And now you. My three most loyal knights."

At last Kern swallowed and was able to speak. "I'd be honored, milord,"
he said in a rush of breath.

Soth nodded and placed a hand on Kern's shoulder.

"Thank you."

* * * * *

The sun shone brightly over the jagged peaks of the Dargaard Mountains
as if Mishakal herself, the Healing Hand, was showing Soth the way.

Unlike his departures in the past, there were few people present to see
him off. The knights were there, of course, some wishing they could
accompany Soth, others no doubt happy to be left behind.

Isolde was present, dressed in a dark rose-colored gown which she wore
as a show of support for her husband's quest. If she was saddened by the
prospect of Soth's departure, her faith in Mishakal and her own strength
of character were helping her to hide it well.

Soth hoped some of that strength would be passed on to his son. It would
serve him well in his later years as a Knight of Solamnia. Soth realized
that such a thought was something of a wild fantasy, given that the
Knights of Solamnia would never accept the half-breed son of a disgraced
knight. But, if his quest were successful, if he saved Krynn from the
ravages of the Cataclysm, there might be a chance for his son.

He approached Isolde, took her hand in his. "Speak well of me to the
boy."

"I will."

"And make sure you tell him that I gave my life as much for him as for
the all people of Krynn." "I won't have to tell him," said Isolde.
"Minstrels and storytellers will sing it to him wherever he may go."

Soth nodded, and leaned forward to kiss her.

As the kiss ended, Isolde lowered her head, covered her face with her
hands and wept softly.

Soth resisted the urge to try and comfort her--it was too late for that
now--and moved on to the maid who held Peradur in her arms. He took the
bundled child from her, held him close to his face and whispered, "When
you grow older, don't curse me for abandoning you. I am doing this for
you because I know your world will be a better place without me in it."

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
anymore."

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."

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.

the tremors shook the ground for hours.

All through the city of Istar, screams could be heard.

Men, women and children cried out in agony and terror as cracks opened
beneath their feet, swallowing them where they stood.

No one was safe.

Nowhere was safe.

The land itself was opening up, devouring entire families, entire homes,
whole rows of houses, like some angry maw that was as insatiable as it
was terrifying.

The sky had gone from blue to black, and was now tinged with red as it
rained fire and destruction onto what was left of one of the greatest
cities on the face of Krynn.

In the temple, the Kingpriest refused to concede defeat, refused to
admit that his own righteous pride had brought on the wrath of the gods.

Like a madman, he still held out hope that the gods would come to their
senses and plead for him to ascend to the heavens and take his rightful
place alongside them.

"Is this the sign?" he shouted over the noise and rumble of the absolute
chaos going on around him. "Is this the prelude to my ascension?"

He had hardly finished uttering the words when a ball of flame as big as
a mountain streaked across the sky.

Chapter 32.

The keep's guards had been warned of Soth's approach long in advance of
his arrival. When he rode over the drawbridge, the portcullis was raised
and waiting for him to enter.

Soth looked around, surprised at the expressions on the faces of those
who had come to greet him. They all looked as if they were seeing a
ghost.

Of course, such a reaction was understandable because Soth was to have
never returned from his quest, but he saw it somewhat differently.

To his mind, they were all looking at him in this way because he had
come back early and caught Isolde in the middle of an infidelity. The
thought renewed the anger within him, making his blood run even hotter.

Soth dismounted. The people around him said nothing.

The inside of the keep was filled only with the sound of his horse,
which was snorting harshly while doing its best to remain standing after
the long, hard ride. Soth walked among the people gathered in the
entrance area, his boots

and armor clanking with each step.

"Where is my wife?" he bellowed.

"Sh-she is in her chambers, milord," said Parry Roslin, captain of the
guards.

"With whom?" he said, placing a strong right hand around Roslin's
throat.

"She is with your son, I believe."

Soth pushed Roslin roughly aside. Some of the guards moved hesitantly to
Roslin's aid.

"Here I am, here I am," came a voice from somewhere on the upper levels
of the keep.

Soth heard that voice and the madness swirling within his mind
intensified twofold.

"My lord, what brings you back so soon?" she said, coming into the
entrance area with Peradur in her arms.

"Glad that I have returned, I see," Soth said, his voice dripping with
sarcasm.

Isolde seemed confused by this. "Of course I am glad to see you, but
what of the quest?"

"The quest," he smiled. "You mean, what of my death?"

"I do not understand," she said, shaking her head.

"Of course you don't. You don't understand how I've come to see the
light- But now I know how you've been unfaithful to me ... since the
beginning."

"What are you talking about?" Isolde's voice was broken and disjointed
with fear. Her eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears.

"Oh, how well you play the innocent," Soth said mockingly, his voice
sounding hollow and chilling, as if it had already been touched by
death. "Even now as I confront your unfaithfulness."

"What?" she said, truly surprised. "I've never been unfaithful to you."
Soth said nothing, his mind too clouded by rage to hear anything other
than the taunting words of the elf-maids that had been echoing in his
ears ever since he had returned to the keep:

She sees every man as her lover ... And she loves every man she sees ...
Lord Loren Soth, Knight of the Rose, Lord Cuckold of Dargaard Keep.

"I've never been unfaithful to you," Isolde repeated, her voice begging
him to believe her. She began to move away from him, stepping backward
into one of the keep's larger halls.

Soth rushed forward. "Liar!" he cried, placing a hand on her shoulder
and pushing her heavily to the floor.

Isolde fell backward, clutching Peradur close to her breast. When she
came to a stop, she looked up at Soth with wide eyes that were filled
with terror and disbelief.

A loud roar could be heard outside the keep, shaking it roughly as it
thundered past. In seconds the tremendous sound faded, replaced by the
pungent smell of burnt wood and leaves, and other things that could not
be named. The sky dimmed as the light from the sun was blocked by a
layer of smoke.

Soth and Isolde paid little attention to the event as they were too
involved in what was happening within the keep to care.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked, her voice edged with as much
anger as terror. "I am your wife! I bore you a son!"

"A son, you say. Not my son! How are you so sure the child is mine?"
asked Soth, towering over the fallen woman, forcing her to crawl
awkwardly backward with a single hand just to keep her distance.

Soth's words struck her heart like a dagger. The tears she had been
holding back streamed from the corners of her eyes. "How dare you accuse
me," she said. "I loved you always. You saved my life. How could I ever
do anything to hurt you?"

"You lay with me while I was still wed to Korinne. If you ignored one
oath of matrimony, why should I believe you would honor the one you
swore to me?"

"After Korinne was with child I wanted to leave the keep. But you, you
were the one who wanted me to remain. You asked me to stay here so that
you could be unfaithful to Korinne."

Peradur had begun to cry, wailing loudly after listening to his parents
argue for so long. The child's cry reverberated through the keep, which
had quickly emptied after the extent of Soth's anger had become
apparent. It was possible that there still might be people in the hall
peeking around corners, but if they were there, they were keeping
themselves well hidden.

"So, you accuse me," said Soth, "when it is you who make a mockery of
our marriage, bedding any man you please."

"By the hand of Mishakal," Isolde whispered. "What demon possesses you?"

"Do you even know who the child's father is?"

"You are his father," Isolde said softly between sobs.

"You are."

"Treacherous, deceitful, lying witch!" Isolde said nothing.
Instinctively she crouched onto the floor to protect her child, and
wept.

Soth stepped forward, drew his sword.

Isolde looked up.

"In the name of Paladine," she whispered. "No, please--"

At that moment the keep was rocked by the shock waves created by the
impact of the fiery mountain-sized ball as it slammed into the
unsuspecting city of Istar.

Like everywhere else on Krynn, Solamnia heaved from the impact. The keep
began to crumble. Jagged cracks began to appear along mortar lines
between the bloodstones.

Items throughout the keep toppled from their places. The keep was filled
with the sounds of clattering steel, smashing pots and the cries of
people caught by falling debris.

The floor of the hall in which they stood began to split apart. The
shaking of the ground caused Isolde to stumble backward onto the floor
with the baby cradled in her arms.

"Help me," she cried, trying to rise up.

Soth shook his head. "Help you who have betrayed me so completely?"

She raised a hand toward him, but instead of assisting her, he turned
his back on her.

The ground rumbled once more, shaking the keep to its very foundations.

Isolde screamed.

Soth turned around just in time to see the great chandelier hanging
above the hall come loose from its mount. As if in another dimension, or
shrouded in some spell, the chandelier fell slowly, seeming to fall
inches at a time, taking forever to reach the floor.

Instinctively, Soth was compelled to do something to save her. He began
moving toward Isolde, but like the chandelier itself, he could hardly
move fast enough.

In the end Soth was left helpless and could only watch as the
chandelier's ornate silver and gold swords, crowns and roses, impaled
Isolde, nailing her to the jagged floor of the hall, unable to move.

In an instant, all Soth's maddening rage was gone.

He looked at his wife, saw the blood flowing freely from her wounds and
open mouth, and could only think of how he had failed her utterly.

"Take him," came the ragged, garbled voice of Isolde.

Soth looked over at her and saw that despite her injuries, she had been
able to protect the child from harm.

She extended her arms, and held the blanket-wrapped child up to him.

"Take him," she said again.

Soth knew he should take the child and care for him, protect him from
the ravages of the Cataclysm, and shelter him from all the hardships of
life that would surely follow

such devastation. But as he moved forward to take hold of the child, he
heard a voice whisper in his ear.

It was a male voice, strong and powerful and unlike anything he'd ever
heard on the face of Krynn. Hearing it now, he knew it could only be the
voice of a god.

Our children shall bleed for our sins.

Soth stopped in his tracks.

It all made sense to him now. He had suffered for the sins of his
father, and instead of accepting his fate and rising above it, he had
only compounded his father's sins by committing even more ghastly ones
of his own. His sins were far worse than anything his father had ever
done. If he saved Peradur now from the flames, it would only be to give
him a life of misery and shame as he would be destined to suffer for the
sins of his father, and those of his father's father. And as he
suffered, he would commit sins of his own, worse than Soth's.

It was a never ending cycle.

But not if Soth chose to break it. He could end the cycle.

He took a step back.

The chandelier's candles toppled and rolled across the floor. The flames
licked at Isolde's robes and in seconds set them alight.

"Save him," Isolde begged as the flames began to obscure her face.

Soth remained still, impassive.

"Save your son!" Isolde's voice came out of the flames as if it had
already become disembodied, an ethereal thing in the midst of so much
destruction.

Soth did not answer, nor move to save the boy.

The fire continued to work its way over her body, chewing at her arms
and finally engulfing the shrouded child in flames.

Then the fire began to spread outward from the center of the hall,
flowing like water through the keep, up the walls and across the
ceiling.

Finally, the voice, Isolde's voice, shouted a curse upon Soth, the words
seeming to come from somewhere above the flames.

"You will die this night in fire," she said. "Even as your son and I
die. You will live one life for every life your folly has brought to an
end!"

There were more words, but Soth didn't hear them.

All he could hear were the screams of incredible agony and pain coming
from all corners of the keep.

He tried to block out the horrifying sound.

But could not.

* * * *

Farold, Kern and Caradoc felt the ground shake and stopped their horses
in their tracks.

They could see Dargaard Keep in the distance, its rose like towers a
welcome sight after such a hard and eventful journey.

But as they stood there looking at the keep in all its glory, they felt
the ground give way beneath their mounts and a rush of hot air push
against their faces.

"Look there!" shouted Kern, pointing to the sky.

A huge fiery mass, one as big as a mountain, streaked across the
darkened sky, leaving a trail of bright yellow orange fire in its wake.

The trail of fire burned white hot, then turned to smoke, blocking out
the sun and leaving the land eerily dimmed.

"Is this it?" asked Farold.

"Is this what?" asked Kern.

"The Cataclysm," answered Caradoc.

Indeed, these were cataclysmic events. The land itself seemed to be
trembling as if in fear that the end might be near.

"I'm afraid so," said Farold. "Only the gods can produce fire where it
cannot be. Surely the burning sky can be nothing but the powerful
manifestation of the gods' wrath." "Wrath?" asked Kern, aghast. "Against
Lord Soth?"

Farold nodded. "Against Soth, against the Kingpriest, against all of the
people of Krynn."

"Soth could have stopped this," Caradoc said in disbelief, almost as if
he were asking a question.

"The Kingpriest's powers of persuasion proved stronger than Soth's
strength of will."

Just then, the keep itself burst into flames.

"Merciful gods, no!" cried Farold.

Caradoc and Kern leaped onto their horses. Caradoc waited, then lifted a
stunned Farold behind him onto the horse's haunches. All three knights
rode hard toward the keep.

In minutes they were close enough to see the devastation that the flames
were inflicting upon the keep. It seemed that every inch of it was on
fire. Even places where flames simply were not possible burned brightly.

The stones themselves were ablaze.

The knights tried to get nearer to the keep, but the intense heat and
flames continued to push them back until they were forced to move away
and helplessly watch it burn.

But even as they watched the fires slowly die, gouts of flame began
shooting up from the ground behind them, forcing the knights forward in
the direction of the keep.

"What's happening?" shouted Kern.

"We are part of the keep, part of Soth's world. We belong inside."

"What are you saying?"

"The gods won't allow us to be spared," answered Caradoc, his voice
surprisingly calm, as if he knew his deeds would eventually catch up
with him and he would be made to suffer as his lord had. "Our destiny is
too closely linked with Soth's. We cannot escape the flames."

The fire was all around them now, pushing them ever closer to the keep.

With flames behind them and a burnt but clear path ahead of them, they
were pushed across the bridge and into the smoldering keep.

Once inside, the fire suddenly began to burn anew as rivers of flames
streamed down the bleeding stone walls.

And then, like the rest of the knights in the keep, they gave themselves
up to the flames ... Joining Lord Soth.

* * * *

The fire continued to burn.

All around him flames shot up from the floor, ringing him in fire. But
no matter how hot and intense the flames were, Soth remained untouched
by their flickering tongues.

Like a doomed man on his way to his own execution, Soth exited the hall,
leaving the burning mass of his wife and son behind.

He walked through the flaming keep, ignoring the dying people around
him.

"Help me, milord!" cried a laundress.

"You could have stopped th--" said a guard, his words cut off by the
flames eating away at his throat.

Soth continued on, seemingly unaffected by the magnitude of the tragedy,
toward his throne room.

The place where he would die.

When he arrived, he found the entire room engulfed with flames and
filled with thick black smoke. But as he walked toward his throne, a
path opened up for him across the floor. When he reached the throne he
turned around, took one last look at the devastation--the devastation
that he could have prevented--and sat wearily down on his throne.

He breathed a final smoke-filled sigh, and waited for death to claim
him.

The flames were upon him in seconds.

He did not scream.

Epilogue.

When at last, after days of burning, the flames died down, Dargaard
Keep--once the pride of all Solamnia and one of the wonders of
Krynn--was little more than a black and charred husk retaining its
rose-like shape, but none of its former glory.

There had been some who escaped the flames. They had managed to leap
from the burning keep and across the yawning chasm surrounding it. But
those survivors were few, as most of the inhabitants had succumbed to
the flames, dying horrifically only to be reborn as wraithlike beings
who haunted the keep in the service of its lord.

Lord Loren Soth.

The Death Knight.

*****

Weeks later, some signs of life returned to the grounds around Dargaard
Keep. While the land surrounding the keep, once green and lush, had been
blackened by ash and become almost devoid of life, some flowers had
begun to bloom.

In the charred garden within the keep and on the grounds around it,
black roses bloomed, their thorns long and sharp and quite painful to
the touch.

Travelers sometimes picked the odd, gloomy flowers, but never more than
one or two at a time. And most important of all, never did they linger
afterward for fear of attracting the attention of the lord of the keep
and incurring his wrath.

Lord Loren Soth.

Knight of the Black Rose.

As the sun set on the gray plains of Solamnia, the flame blackened
drawbridge leading into the keep rumbled and was slowly lowered across
the chasm.

In silence, Soth's thirteen retainers, former Sword, Crown and Rose
knights, appeared through the archway under the raised portcullis. They
were skeletal warriors now, still loyal to their lord, even in death.
They exited the keep mounted upon their horses, which had also been
transformed by the flames, for yet another nocturnal patrol of
Knightlund.

Soth sat on his throne. The walls of the keep that surrounded him were
black and charred by the fire. Soth's armor had also been blackened by
the flames.

His flesh had burned too, but he had not died.

With each agonizing movement, his burnt and charred flesh cracked and
broke off in pieces. The pain had been less these past few days as most
of his skin had slowly fallen off of his body. In another week it would
be gone completely, leaving only a cold, hard skeleton.

If anything remained alive in his new undead form, it was his eyes. They
burned the color of the same bright orange flames which had consumed
him. But they burned also with anguish, regret, and the pain of never
ending torment, as he knew he would remain in this form for an eternity
so that he might be properly punished for his sins.

The pain of it all was sometimes too much for him to bear. Orange tears
fell from his eyes and sizzled like water on a hot iron as they hit the
ground below.

To compound his torment, around him circled the banshee spirits, spirits
he had brought to life when he so brutally killed the elf-maidens who
had confronted him on the way to Istar.

In life they had tormented him with their words. In death they did the
same, their words transforming into song.

They would never let him forget.

And now, as he sat on his throne pondering his former life and current
unlife, the banshees' keening wails continued to rip into his mind and
tear relentlessly at his soul.

And though his heart did not beat, it was nevertheless shattered and
racked by the agonizing pain of regret.

He tried to close his eyes.

But as death would not come to relieve him of this world ... Neither
would sleep.

SONG OF THE BANSHEES And in the climate of dreams when you recall her,
when the world of the dream expands, wavers in light, when you stand at
the edge of blessedness and sun, Then we shall make you remember, shall
make you live again through the long denial of body.

For you were first dark in the light's hollow, expanding like a stain, a
cancer For you were the shark in the slowed water beginning to move For
you were the notched head of a snake, sensing forever warmth and form
For you were inexplicable death in the crib, the long house in betrayal.

And you were more terrible than this in a loud alley of visions, for you
passed through unharmed, unchanging, As the women screamed, unraveling
silence, halving the door of the world, bringing forth monsters As a
child opened in parabolas of fire There at the borders of two lands
burning

As the world split, wanting to swallow you back willing to give up
everything to lose you in darkness.

You passed through these unharmed, unchanging, but now you see them
strung on our words of your own conceiving as you pass from night to
awareness of night to know that hatred is the calm of philosophers, that
its price is forever, that it draws you through meteors, through
winter's transfixion through the blasted rose through the shark's water
through the black compression of oceans through rock--through magma to
yourself--to an abscess of nothing that you will recognize as nothing,
that you will know is coming again and again under the same rules.

If you enjoyed reading Lord Soth, be sure to read these other books in
the dragonlance  Warriors Series:

The details of the early years of the greatest weapons smith in the
history of Krynn are revealed in Theros Ironfeld. Before he forged the
fabled dragonlances, Theros was captured to work as a slave on a
Minotaur ship, employed as a metalsmith for Gilthanas of the Qualinesti
elves, and served as a soldier in many epic battles. After a draconian
attack leaves him with only one arm, he is called to the Hall of the
Gods, where he must make the biggest decision of his life. (ISBN
0-7869-0481-X)

Maquesta Kar-Thon details the exploits of a young woman who must capture
a deadly sea monster for a minotaur lord in order to save her father's
life. At eighteen, Maq is forced to become the captain of a ship and to
battle pirates, Blood Sea imps and other evil creatures of the deep. Her
quest must be successful. Her father's life depends on it. (ISBN
0-7869-0134-9)

In Knights of the Crown a spell thief named Sir Pirvan the Wayward
begins an unlikely quest to become one of the Knights of Solamnia. His
training starts as a squire of the Knights of the Crown, who have much
to teach him about the virtue of loyalty. (ISBN 0-7869-0202-7)

About the Author.

Edo van Belkom made an auspicious debut in the horror field when his
first short story was reprinted in Year's Best Horror Stories 20. Since
then, he's sold over 70 other stories of science fiction, fantasy, and
horror. He lives in Canada, and his first book was The World of
Darkness: Werewolf--Wyrm Wolf, from Harper Prism.