Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  “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, Kiri-Jolith, Habbakuk, Branchala and Solinari? Even the Gods of Evil: Takhisis, Sargonnas, Morgion, and the Gods of Neutrality: Gilean, Sirrion, 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 lizardlike Bakali, the otherworldly Huldrefolk, the birdlike Kyrie, and the batlike 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 craglike 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.�
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  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.