Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  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 unw
rapped 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 a
ir 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 short-lived, 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.