Lord Soth (16 page)

The forest was burning.

Soth looked around him and saw nothing but flames eating up the trees. He was being pushed northward, the fire at his back leaving him no other choice.

He must have been running for hours. His legs had become heavy and leaden, each step becoming that much harder to take. At last, he could not go on.

“Father?”

The voice, it was the same one as before. It belonged to his son.

“Father? Are you there? Help me!”

Soth tried to run, but his legs had grown far too tired, his body exhausted from continually running from the flames. He took two more awkward steps and fell to his knees.

“Father, why don’t you help me?”

He searched the smoke that hung over the forest like a pall and discerned movement in the distance.

It was his son, younger than before, dressed in the garb of a squire. His eyes were closed, no doubt seared by the heat and smoke of the fire. He was wandering the forest aimlessly, stepping over fallen trees and smoldering ashes, even walking at times directly toward the fire itself.

Soth opened his mouth to call out to the boy, and suddenly realized he did not know what to call him.

He didn’t know his own son’s name.

“Father! Save me!”

Soth opened his mouth once more and gagged on the thick black smoke enshrouding him like darkness incarnate.

“Father, are you there?”

He gagged and coughed on the acrid smoke. He wanted to call out, but before he could make a sound a burning tree toppled, crashing down onto the younger Soth, knocking him to the ground and setting his clothes ablaze.

As he watched the flames eat away at his son, his own flesh and blood, Soth heard the boy’s final words.

“Father, it hurts …”

Soth’s eyes shot open and he coughed to clear his throat of phlegm. He looked over to where Korinne lay. Thankfully, she was still asleep, the slight smile gracing her visage proof that she’d remained oblivious to the horrible nightmare that had haunted him yet again.

Soth rubbed his fisted hands against his sleepy eyes. It had been months since he’d had such a dream, not since he had been on the trail toward Halton. At the time he’d dismissed it as simply a product of his eagerness to do battle. But now, there had been months of calm and peaceful existence within the keep. Even the citizens of Knightlund had been cooperative, settling their minor squabbles and arguments themselves rather than wasting the valuable time of the lord of the keep.

Then what could have brought it on?

He rose from the bed, careful to leave Korinne undisturbed. Then he quickly got dressed in leggings and a tunic, and slipped into a pair of soft-soled boots so as to not make any noise as he wandered through the keep.

It was still quite early in the morning and few in the keep would be awake yet. Even the roosters had yet to begin crowing the dawning of a new day.

He slipped out of the room and ventured down to the keep’s gatehouse. The drawbridge was already down in preparation for the morning’s deliveries. Soth asked the footman on watch to raise the portcullis enough to allow him to get outside of the keep and wander the grounds.

“Alone?” asked the footman.

Soth merely glared at him. Even though it was customary to have a knight or footman accompany anyone venturing out of the keep on foot, Soth wanted very much to be alone.

The footman looked at Soth for several seconds waiting for an answer. Then, realizing he wouldn’t be getting one, he said, “Yes, milord.” He began turning the winding gear that slowly lifted the portcullis. Soth crouched down and ducked under the still-rising portcullis, then walked
across the heavy wooden bridge, his feet making no sounds against its planks.

He stopped at one side of the bridge and looked down into the chasm below. It was dark and foreboding, like the open maw of a dragon might appear when viewed from close up. There were several pebbles on the bridge. Soth nudged one toward the edge and finally over the side. He listened carefully, but did not hear the stone hit bottom.

He moved on, crossing the bridge and heading toward the small garden kept on the grounds. After the wedding, flowers and trees and shrubs had been planted on the site and now, almost a year later, the plants were beginning to bloom. The garden was awash in bright yellows and oranges, and rich blues and greens. It was still too early for the roses, but the groundskeepers had assured him they would be a brilliant spectacle of red, white and yellow when they bloomed in a few short weeks.

The stunning rebirth of nature did little to improve Soth’s state of mind. The blossoming of new life only served to remind him of his and Korinne’s inability to do the same.

It just didn’t make any sense.

If his father, Aynkell Soth, had been able to create offspring so often—and with such apparent ease—then why not him as well? Was he not of the same flesh and blood?

And what of Korinne? Hadn’t Lord and Lady Gladria given birth to a large family, providing Korinne with several brothers and sisters, each of them with several children of their own? Why hadn’t such fertility been passed on to her as well?

For the first time since the wedding, Soth’s mind was infected by doubt.

Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in marrying Lady Korinne.

The thought hit him like the slap of a hand encased in cold, hard mail. How could I have thought such a thing? And yet it continued to haunt him, like the dreams.

He walked through the garden, smelling the flowers in the hopes that the devilish thought would fade from his
memory. But instead it lingered.

He approached the small gazebo positioned in the center of the garden. It was closed off by a small gate and the gate was kept closed by a latch. Although the latch was made to accommodate a lock, it was without one. Soth opened the latch and stepped into the gazebo. As he closed the gate behind him he was reminded of a kender saying.

“Why insult a door’s purpose by locking it?”

Indeed, and why would Paladine allow them to build a nest of such love if its destiny was to be barren? Soth still believed Paladine was waiting for the proper time to give the couple children, but he was beginning to question why the Great Dragon was making them wait so long.

As he sat down on the bench inside the gazebo and watched the morning sun begin to crest the peaks of the Dargaard Mountains to the west, he felt he had an idea of what the answer might be.

Perhaps Paladine was making him pay the price for his father’s indiscretions and his own concealment of them.

The sins of the father.

They would be with him.

Always.

Soth felt a breeze blow heavily down from the mountains.

It was a cool wind and it made him shiver.

“Milord.”

Soth turned to his left. Caradoc slowly appeared out of the garden’s shadows.

“Is everything all right?” asked Soth’s seneschal, concern for his lord apparent in his voice.

“Yes, everything is fine,” said Soth. “It’s just that there’s a chill in the air this morning.” He pulled his cloak more tightly around his body to stave off the cold. “Can you feel it?”

Caradoc looked at Soth strangely. “No milord, I can’t.”

Chapter 9

The elderly mage walked casually through the streets of Istar, his
yellow and white robes flowing behind, swirling over the cobblestones. Every once in a while he would glance into a store front or shop window looking at everything, but nothing in particular.

It was a strange feeling.

He had been empowered by the Kingpriest to read the minds of the people of Istar so that he could discern their evil thoughts. But, what was he to do about those evil thoughts after they’d been found out, and how was he to prevent them from becoming evil deeds?

On this subject the Kingpriest had been vague, leaving the matter up to the discretion of the individual mages.

Earlier in the day the mage had watched a business transaction being conducted in the marketplace on the city’s west side. A fisherman from the coastal down of Cesena had brought baskets of fish to trade for grain, sugar, spice and other necessities of life. In this particular transaction he had exchanged twenty-four fish for two
bushels of grain, a poor trade given that the fish were quite fresh—even packed in ice—while the quality of the grain was rather dubious. But grain at this time of year was hard to find, especially high quality grain, so the fisherman was forced to make the trade or else do without.

After the deal had been made and the two men shook hands, the mage read the minds of each. The grain dealer was obviously happy, but the fisherman was frustrated by the deal, knowing he had given up more than he’d received.

And then … something of an evil thought.

The fisherman wished that the grain dealer would be similarly cheated in another transaction later in the day.

As he’d watch the two men part, the mage considered the fisherman’s thought.

Had it been evil?

At length, he decided it was not. It was simply wishing that the trader eventually got what he deserved. That had not been an evil thought, but rather, merely fair.

Now as he walked the streets of the industrial district, the mage stopped by the open window of a blacksmith’s shop and watched the smith as he worked.

The interior of the shop glowed orange from the light of the fire burning hotly off in one corner. Judging by the several decorative swords leaning against the wall in a neat row, the smith was busy hammering out items to be hung in one of the halls within the Temple of the Kingpriest. The hilt ends of the swords were of an elaborate design and considering the amount of effort the smith was putting into the sword currently on the anvil, quite difficult to fashion.

The mage decided to read the smith’s mind.

Little more there … Too much
 … 
A curve here … More … More …

The thoughts seemed to correspond with the blows of his hammer.

Again … Harder this time … More … Too much!

But in addition to the simple thoughts that went along
with each blow, there was also an underlying current of anger. Anger against what or whom, the mage couldn’t tell, but it was there just under the surface, ready to break through at any moment.

Too much work for so little pay … Flatter … Harder … Again …

Suddenly the sword the smith was working on cracked, sending pieces of hot metal flaring away like comets before sizzling against the damp stone floor of the shop.

More time and money gone … Too much work, even for the Kingpriest …

The smith lifted the broken sword away from the anvil and inspected the crack, and then its sharp, pointed tip.

Perhaps it’s just sharp enough for the Kingpriest … Straight through the heart and a quick turn for good measure …

The mage gasped at the wickedness of the thought. To kill the Kingpriest was unthinkable. The mage simply could not allow such evil thoughts to fester in the smith’s mind. And there was only one sure way to put a stop to them.

The mage closed his eyes and began to mumble a string of unintelligible words and syllables.

And as he did so, the smith began to sway as if he were beginning to feel dizzy. The smith shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, but still continued to sway.

At last the mage fell silent.

The spell had been cast.

The smith fell forward still holding the sword in his hands.

The hilt hit the floor and the sharp point pierced his throat, choking off his breath …

And putting an end to all his evil thoughts.

Chapter 10