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, c
onsidering 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.
Lord Soth Page 17