Lord Soth (13 page)

Those who had fled the battle had been taken care of by Farold to the north and Caradoc to the south. It was possible that one or more of the ogres had managed to escape the slaughter and would eventually make it back to Throtyl, but Soth wasn’t too concerned about that. If an ogre were to reach Throtyl it would mean he would be able to tell the rest of them what had happened to their party, thereby providing an effective warning to those who might try a similar attack on villages within the realm of Knightlund.

There was also a chance that the ogres would attempt to mount reprisal attacks, but their numbers would be no match for an extended war with the combined forces of all the Knights of Solamnia. This had been little more than an isolated skirmish, and now it was over.

Soth wiped his blade clean on a dead ogre’s loincloth, then sheathed the sword and looked around to inspect the damage. Except for what the ogres had consumed while they had been in control of the village, most of their
booty—the village’s store—was recovered intact. A few villagers would be inconvenienced by having to cart their valuables back to their homes, and others would need time to get over the shock of the ogres’ attack, but all in all, everything had gone as well as, or perhaps even better, than Soth could have hoped.

Best of all, not one of his knights had suffered a serious injury. Of course, a few of them had suffered cuts and gashes, and others had been bruised by the ogres, but their pains were nothing a tankard or two of ale wouldn’t cure.

Soth detected some movement to his left. He turned and saw Farold approaching the Square from the north. “All clear, milord,” he said.

“And the villagers?”

“Safe.”

Soth nodded and looked to the south. Caradoc was there with Kern. Soth raised his head, as if asking a question of his seneschal.

“No more ogres in the forest, milord,” said Caradoc. “If there are, they’re halfway to Throtyl by now.”

Soth nodded. His chest swelled with pride at the way his knights had handled themselves, but he was also rightly proud of himself for planning a battle strategy that ensured all of his knights would be able to fight again another day. As their leader, this had been one of Soth’s prime concerns.

“Well done, Knights of Solamnia,” he said loudly.

“Well done, milord!” the knights cheered in unison.

It was a good day to be a Knight of Solamnia.

When they ventured out into their village and found their streets rid of the dreaded ogres, the grateful villagers of Halton insisted that the knights remain in the town for a celebratory feast.

And, after a day and a half’s ride and a short, but intense battle, the knights quickly acquiesced to the offer.

For the feast, all types of food—much of it taken directly from what the ogres had pillaged and loaded onto their
carts—was served up on tables set up within Center Square itself. Ale and wine poured freely into what seemed to be bottomless tankards, and music and song from the town’s finest minstrels and bards gave the night an almost festival atmosphere.

After the meal, the villagers continued to show the knights their gratitude by offering them a number of gifts ranging from heirloom quilted blankets to household bric-a-brac made from precious metals and rare wood. In a few cases the offered gifts included the favors of several of the more adventurous—not to mention attractive—women of the village. The knights, of course, all remained true to the Oath and the Measure and kindly refused such tempting entreaties.

Especially virtuous among the knights was Lord Soth himself, who despite the intoxicating effect of the ale and the tempting proposition made to him by a pretty and buxom young farm girl, found his thoughts kept drifting back toward Dargaard Keep and his Lady Korinne who waited patiently for him to return.

Chapter 6

“Step forward,” said the Kingpriest
.

The young woman stepped forward, carrying her bundled infant in her arms.

To the woman’s left was a somewhat older female mage dressed in the familiar yellow and white robes of the followers of the Kingpriest.

“Mage Hailerin,” said the Kingpriest, indicating the mage standing beside the woman, “reports to me that you have had wickedly evil thoughts about this child.”

“I’m not aware of having any evil thoughts your holiness,” the woman said, her head bowed, her voice full of humility.

“Mage Hailerin,” said the Kingpriest.

The female mage stepped forward. “I was walking along this woman’s street late last night when I heard a baby’s cry. It was loud and constant and seemed to convey great pain.”

The Kingpriest nodded. “Go on.”

“I went looking for the source of the cry, a search that
led me straight to this woman’s house.”

“And what did you see?”

“When I arrived I looked in through the window and saw this woman tending to her child.”

“But the child was crying?” asked the Kingpriest.

“He’s been colicky of late …” the woman said.

“Silence!” said the Kingpriest. “You may speak when the mage is done.”

The woman fell silent, but looked to be on the verge of tears.

“She was trying to comfort the child at first, but it continued to cry and would not stop. And that’s when she began to shake the child, only a little at first, but then more rigorously.”

The Kingpriest’s eyebrows arched and he nodded. He leaned forward. “And her thoughts?”

The mage looked at the woman. “Her thoughts ranged from abandoning the child on a doorstep, to bashing its head with a large rock.”

The Kingpriest looked surprised.

The woman began shaking her head. “He’s been colicky for the longest time,” she said. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in six months. It seems like he’s been crying constantly. Nothing I’ve done has helped.”

“Do you deny having these thoughts?” asked the Kingpriest.

“I love my baby,” she said.

“Answer the question.”

“What mother hasn’t had such thoughts at some point in her life?”

“So you admit to having thoughts about abandoning, even killing your infant child?”

“I was frustrated and might have considered it for a second,” said the woman, her voice trembling with fear. “But I’d never do such a ghastly thing. I love my son and would never do anything to hurt him.”

“But yet you were seen shaking the child.”

“I was at my wit’s end, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Shaking an innocent child is an evil act. If you are capable of doing that, what is to prevent you from enacting your heinous thoughts of killing the child?”

“I love my baby.”

The Kingpriest looked away, no longer listening to the woman’s desperate pleas. “You are hereby sentenced to death so that your evil thoughts can never become evil deeds. But you need not worry for your child. He will be taken into the temple and raised by members of the clergy. When he is of age, he will be trained as a cleric’s apprentice.”

The child was unceremoniously torn from the woman’s arms.

“No!” she screamed. “My baby …”

The child began to scream.

The woman was grabbed by two guards and escorted out of the temple, her cries echoing off the stone walls and down the stone corridors.

The child was taken in the other direction, its cries as chillingly piercing as its mother’s.

The Kingpriest looked at the mage, smiled and said, “Well done, Mage Hailerin. Well done.”

Chapter 7

Dargaard Keep was dark
.

Silent.

Soth’s steps echoed off the cold, hard bloodstone, sounding like drops of water falling into a deep dark well. He climbed up the staircase toward the master bedchamber.

He’d been away for weeks, leading his loyal knights in the fight against the forces of Evil. He had returned a hero, but without warning, and therefore had arrived without fanfare, without a proper hero’s reception.

But all that was unimportant. All he really wanted was to see his lady love. To embrace her and love her over and over again, to somehow make up for the long chill nights he’d left her alone while he traveled the dark and lonely plains.

He neared the bedchamber.

And heard the voices.

They were soft, whispery voices. The kind of voices lovers use to exchange secrets and fondest desires. One of the voices belonged to Lady Korinne, the other … The other was deeper in tone and louder. It was the voice of a
man. Soth suddenly inhaled.

A man’s voice in his lady’s bedchamber in the middle of the night. It could mean only one thing.

Soth felt anger roil within him as his muscles tensed like iron bands. He drew his sword and pounded on the door.

There were hurried sounds coming from inside. Bedsheets ruffling. Hushed whispers.

Again Soth pounded on the door, this time with the hilt of his sword.

“It is open,” came of the voice of Korinne. It was soft and sweet, as if she’d just awakened from a pleasant dream.

Soth turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Several candles lit the room and moonlight beamed in through the open window. Korinne was smiling. “Loren,” she said, stretching her arms out to him.

Her smile angered him even more. How could a woman who had proclaimed her love so passionately suddenly become so treacherous and unfaithful? He wanted nothing more than to shout his words at her, to let his anger be known, but he found he could not utter a single syllable.

He moved toward the bed, ignoring the pleading words of his wife. Then he raised his sword above his head, both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt, blade pointed downward …

And brought it down with force, running the pointed tip through the shape that cowered beneath the covers next to Lady Korinne.

There was a loud grunt.

Dark stains began to bloom outward around the sword.

He reached down, pulled back the cover and saw a face familiar to him.

His own.

Korinne simply laughed.

Soth awoke abruptly, covered in sweat and shivering. His breath came hard and fast as if he’d been running for hours. He sat up on the bed, an extra large one belonging to the Mayor of Halton, and glanced around him. The
room was empty and dark. The night was still and quiet. By the position of the moons it looked as if sunrise was several hours away. Soth lay back on the bed, thankful that no one had seen him awaken in such a state.