“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 any more.”
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.
Lord Soth Page 26