Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  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.

  “I 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 b
ehind 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 the 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 Southlund, 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 you
nger 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 Kem. “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.