And today, the Knights of Solamnia celebrated the nearmiraculous feat by throwing swords, not at a dragon, but at the symbolic red rings painted into the trunk of a sturdy vallenwood tree.
Satisfied with his weapon, Lord Caladen walked off the twenty paces from the tree then turned back around to face it. "Ready!" he said, lifting the sword to his shoulder.
The assembled knights and others in the crowd fell silent.
Lord Caladen took three steps forward and let go of the sword. Its flight was straight and unwavering, but it was slightly off the mark, clipping the right edge of the tree trunk and sending a sliver of bark spinning through the air before landing heavily on the grass behind the tree.
Even though he'd missed, the throw had been a respectable one for such a senior knight.
"Well done, Caladen!"
"A good effort."
The knights applauded, forcing Lord Caladen to accept their cheers with a broad smile and prideful wave, gestures that would have been more than enough acknowledgement even if he had hit the target dead center.
"You're too kind," he said. "A lucky throw, no more."
Just then, Lord Soth came upon the pitch. He'd been circling the keep, greeting his guests one last time before retiring for the night-his wedding night.
Seeing Soth approach, Lord Wistan put his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Perhaps the bridegroom would care to test his mettle?"
The knights turned around and, seeing Soth, beckoned him to try a throw.
"Yes, give a try."
"Come on, Soth!" Soth hesitated, then said, "All right, perhaps just a single throw."
The words were followed by a rousing cheer.
A footman quickly helped Soth with his cloak, then stood back as the knight selected a sword. To no one's surprise he lifted one of the heavier weapons into the air.
Then, after finding its center of balance, he hefted it in his hand to check its weight.
"Make room!" cried Lord Wistan.
The knights surrounding Lord Soth fanned out, clearing a path toward the tree. Soth then walked over to the tree, marched off twenty paces, and turned on his heel.
"Ready," he said.
Lord Wistan nodded.
The crowd of knights and numerous other onlookers that had suddenly gathered around the tree were never more silent.
Soth took three long strides, then threw the sword.
The blade whistled as it sliced through the air… And an instant later it struck the tree with a hard thwok!
Soth looked up, and saw that the sword had hit the exact middle of the center ring, its haft wavering like the stiffened tail of a hungry cat.
For a moment, all were silent as they looked with awe upon the sword as it jutted out from the tree like a new branch.
"Huma could have done no better!" someone shouted.
"A sword never flew more true!" yelled another.
The cheers continued to ring out until they combined together in a single loud wash of exultant voices.
Soth acknowledged the cheers with a slight nod of his head, then raised his hands to restore quiet once more. "If you'll excuse me, I hate to keep a lady waiting, especially when that lady is my wife."
The words were followed by good-natured and knowing laughter.
Soth turned and headed for the keep.
At the vallenwood tree, several footmen tried to pull the sword from the trunk, but with half the length of the blade embedded in the wood, it would not budge.
Finally, three of them combined their efforts and the heavy broadsword slowly came free.
Soth came around to the entrance of the keep.
Standing on the drawbridge was Lady Korinne talking to a young knight draped in a blue cloak. They stood close together, barely inches apart-a distance which could be considered almost intimate.
Soth moved into the shadows cast by a large oak, and watched.
They talked for a minute, maybe longer, then kissed.
Moments later they parted, Korinne entering the keep, the young knight mounting his horse and riding away.
Soth waited until the knight was gone, then followed Korinne.
Once inside, he paused to stand at the open window of the master bedchamber overlooking the grounds outside the entrance to the keep. The fires that had been lit as the sun began its descent were themselves dying out, spotting the land with points of flickering orange-yellow light.
It had been a long day, thought Soth. A good day. The happiest, the proudest, the best yet in his relatively short life. And now the best day's night, his wedding night, was about to begin. Would it prove to be as special as the day had been?
He hoped so.
But before he could enjoy his special night, he had to deal with something that was troubling him.
Just then, the door to the chamber's dressing room opened. Soth turned in time to see Lady Korinne step into the room.
Even in the dim light of the candles set about the room, the woman's beauty was obvious and enchanting. She was dressed in a white nightgown made of a thin, almost sheer, material which clung to her every curve and left little to Soth's imagination.
Soth felt desire for his new bride, a desire he'd been suppressing throughout the day, suddenly erupt within him like sparked tinder. But despite his wish to rush across the room, he stood stock-still, watching patiently.
She moved to the middle of the bedchamber, stopped and looked up at him.
"Does what you see please you?"
Soth knew it wasn't the time for such questions, but he couldn't help himself-he had to know.
"Who was that knight you were speaking to on the drawbridge?"
"A knight?" asked Korinne. "I'm afraid I don't recall."
"A young man dressed in a blue cloak. You kissed him."
"Oh, you mean Trebor Reywas. He's a friend of the family, a Crown knight from Palanthas. He was departing early and came looking for me in order to say goodbye." "A friend of the family?" asked Soth.
"Why, Loren Soth," said Lady Korinne, her hands placed firmly on her hips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're jealous." Soth sighed. Perhaps he was jealous, but even if he was it was a weakness he'd never admit to. He answered Korinne by shaking his head. "No, not jealous. Only envious of the kiss you gave him."
She smiled at him. "That's so sweet," she said, moving to the foot of the bed. There, she reached up for the string about her neck which held the gown in place. She untied the knot, moved the gown over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "I'm sorry you've had to wait.
But, am I not worth waiting for?" she asked.
Soth merely nodded.
"Then, please," she said, "love me!"
Soth went to her, took her in his arms… And loved her.
Chapter 3
"What constitutes an evil deed?" the Kingpriest said, standing in front of a large group of his followers in the largest assembly hall within the Temple of the Kingpriest in Istar. The group was made up of mages, priests, acolytes and other loyal supporters of the cause, which was the purging of Evil from the face of Krynn.
Several hands shot up in response to the question.
The Kingpriest nodded in the direction of a young man dressed in slightly faded green and brown robes. Judging by his clothing, he was one of the Kingpriest's lesser priests, but nevertheless a devout follower and crusader for the worldwide promotion of Good over Evil.
"An act which is morally wrong, or bad," said the young priest.
The Kingpriest paced in front of his followers, his hands clasped together before him as if in prayer, or perhaps just deep in thought.
"Yes, yes, that is part of it. But what else? What constitutes an evil deed?"
Again, hands rose up before him.
He pointed to a woman dressed in pale yellow and white robes which had the insignia of the Kingpriest sewn over the left breast. She was a mage, a renegade mage who used her considerable power to help strengthen the Kingpriest's domination of
Istar and to promote the Kingpriest's edicts and ideology across the entire continent of Ansalon.
"Anything causing injury or harm. A harmful effect or consequence," she said with strength of conviction.
"It is that too," said the Kingpriest. "But what is the basis for evil deeds, the thing that lurks behind them, pushing them forward, turning them into deeds?"
This time the Kingpriest indicated an older yellow-and-white-robed mage sitting toward the back of the assembly.
"Depravity, viciousness, corruption, wickedness…"
The Kingpriest began nodding his head with delight, "Yes, yes, yes …"
Obviously, he was finally hearing just what he wanted to hear. "Evil deeds have all of those things at their core." He paused a moment to reflect. "But what must occur before an evil deed is enacted?"
The followers were unsure about the wording of the question and looked at each other in confusion.
"Before there can be an evil deed," said the Kingpriest, "there must be …" He paused to allow his followers the chance to complete the sentence.
He pointed at various people in the group.
"Evil purpose?"
The Kingpriest shook his head. "Not exactly."
"An evil concept?"
"Yes, but more precisely…"
"Evil intent?"
"Yes, but…"
"Evil thoughts?"
The Kingpriest stopped in his tracks, silent. "Yes," he said at last, seemingly relieved. "Evil thoughts. Before an evil act can even be committed, it must be preceded by an evil thought." The followers continued to listen intently, realizing that the Kingpriest was getting closer to the reason he'd brought them all together.
"The Proclamation of Manifest Virtue was a great step toward the total defeat of Evil because it declared absolutely that Evil in the world was an utter affront to both gods and mortals alike. But the creation of the List of Evil Acts, acts for which the perpetrators faced execution, or death in the gladiatorial arena, was only a beginning. In the years since, the Istarian clergy has grown even stronger. Istar has become not only the center of religion, but also a leading center for art, culture and commerce.
Today, the clergy oversees almost every aspect of daily Istarian life."
The Kingpriest paused a moment, obviously satisfied by how powerful the priesthood had become under his rule.
"And then came the Siege on Sorcery, in which the people of Krynn laid siege to the Towers of High Sorcery, which effectively banished the evil magic wielders from Istar and allowed the benevolent powers of Good to flourish in a region of Krynn that was free of the stiflingly wicked forces of Evil."
The Kingpriest paced back and forth in front of his followers, knowing that his next words would be absolutely crucial.
"But despite Istar's spectacular rise to power, both at home and across the face of Krynn, and despite the banishment of Evil and the continuous fight for the cause of Good that is waged by the people of Istar and the good Knights of Solamnia, Evil still exists. Anywhere you look you can find it rearing its hideous head."
The Kingpriest's followers nodded in agreement.
"The time has come for new and drastic measures which will help us in the noble fight against Evil. That is why I propose to enact the following Edict of Thought Control."
A low buzz of voices circulated the room.
"Evil thoughts equal evil deeds," said the Kingpriest.
"Anger is a capital offense equal to murder; lust is a capital offense equal to adultery."
The Kingpriest paused to allow the concept to sink in.
"Under this new Edict of Thought Control, you, my good friends and followers will be empowered to identify evil thoughts and prevent them from becoming evil deeds, thereby ensuring that Good will once again reign supreme in a land where virtuous, righteous and, above all, moral people wish to live without fear of the forces of Evil and its denizens.
There was silence in the room for a long time.
Finally, a single hand rose up from the crowd. It was a hand belonging to the elderly mage. "But how will we be able to detect evil thoughts, let alone control them?"
The Kingpriest smiled. "Ah, a very good question, but one that is simply answered. You forget that we stand for the cause of Good and with it on our side, anything is possible."
"Are you saying we shall use magic and spells to carry out this edict, to read the minds of the citizens of Istar?"
"Some would call it magic. Some others would call it spellcasting," answered the Kingpriest. "But those terms are used by wizards and sorcerers. You, loyal clerics and faithful followers, will be able to look into the minds of the people of Istar and read their thoughts through the power of a divine invocation. As a result, you will be able to go about your task safe and secure in the knowledge that you have been empowered to do so by the highest possible authority."
The followers looked uneasy, most likely unsure what had been meant by the "highest possible authority" given that the Kingpriest himself was the head of the clergy.
"Such magnificent power can not be handed down by those who simply perform magic. Such strength of conviction does not come from those who merely practice the incantation of spells."
A pause.
"It comes from, and is, quite simply, the will of the gods."
Chapter 4
"It was my tree And he had no right to cut it down!" said Vin Dowell, a tall wiry farmer from Tyrell, a small village to the west of Dargaard
Keep located on the eastern bank of the Vingaard River.
"I didn't cut it down, I only trimmed the branches that were hanging over my land," said Thorn Tregaard, a short squat man with a barrel-shaped belly, long white hair and a matching tapered, gray-white beard.
As the two men blathered on, Soth rolled his eyes and shifted nervously in his high-backed throne chair, searching for that always elusive comfortable position in which to sit. It was the morning of Palast, the one day each week he set aside for the settling of land claims and similar disputes among the people of Knightlund. Sometimes the disputes were of interest to Soth, such as the ones involving some type of crime, the honor of a woman, or a chivalric sort of challenge between two parties.
But this, this was a squabble between two ducking hens.
"Which you had absolutely no right to do," said Dowell.
"A man's tree is a man's tree. The next thing you'll be doing is cutting down my fence because you don't like the shadow it casts upon your land."
"I'd never damage a fence. And certainly not one that serves well as a border between myself and the likes of you!"
Soth leaned forward and held his head in his hands.
"Not to worry, you wouldn't catch me on that weed infested patch of soil you dare to call a farm." Dowell crossed his arms and turned up his nose in disgust.
"Oh, so my side of the fence is good enough for your tree, but not good enough for you, eh?" Tregaard's face was turning a deep shade of red and his breath was growing deeper and more rapid.
The two men moved closer, rolling up their sleeves in preparation for a fight.
Soth had seen and heard just about as much as he could stand. Although he was mildly interested in seeing which of the two men would emerge the victor of a fist-fight- Dowell having the longer reach, Tregaard possessing a decided weight advantage-he couldn't, in good conscience, allow matters to get out of hand.
"Enough!" he cried, his booming voice shocking the two farmers into silence. When he had their attention, Soth sat up straight in his chair and looked the taller of the two farmers straight in the eye. "Now, Vin
Dowell, were some of your tree's branches hanging over onto Tregaard's land?"
The farmer maintained eye contact with Soth for several seconds, then looked away. "Yes, milord." The words were whispered, a mere shadow of the voice he'd used seconds before on his fellow farmer.
"And you. Thorn Tregaard, cut down the tree or just the branches?"
Tregaard was quick to answe
r. "Just the branches, milord."
"And what of the fruit on those branches?"
"They're in his cold storage room-" barked Dowell.
Soth held up his hand to silence the man.
"Well?" Soth prodded Tregaard.
"As he said, they are in my cold storage." "I see," said Soth, pausing a moment to consider the situation.
The trick to finding a solution acceptable to both parties was to give them the illusion that each of them was coming away the winner. But, how to do that?
"Since the branches were overhanging on Tregaard's land, he was well within his rights to cut the offending branches from the tree."
Tregaard's face was suddenly brightened by a big selfsatisfied grin.
"However," continued Soth. "Because the tree was Dowelts, the branches should be returned to him lest he should want to use them as firewood, and the fruit that was borne by those branches are his property and should be in his cold storage room by the end of the week. By Bakukal to be precise."
It was Dowell's turn to beam.
"Now, shake hands like gentlemen, and return to Tyrell as good neighbors." "Yes milord," said Dowell.
"Thank you, milord," said Tregaard.
Both men sounded grateful, but nevertheless defeated.
"Very well, then," said Soth. "This matter is closed."
As spectators and other interested parties began to file out of the throne room, Soth breathed a sigh of relief. His role as Knightlund's chief justice was done for yet another week and the next dreaded Palast morning court was a blessed seven full days away.
Soth had thought he would have enjoyed some of the more mundane aspects of ruling Knightlund, but just two short months after his wedding and ascension to the Order of the Rose, he had come to realize that that simply was not the case. He yearned to draw his sword in battle, to feel its honed edge cutting into the flesh and cracking the bones of his enemies. It was what he had been trained to do. But, here he was a
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