Lord Soth (19 page)

Soth pulled his sword from the ground and turned to investigate.

At first he feared the woman dead.

Her face was pressed hard against the forest floor and all he could see was the dirty blond hair that covered the back of her head and shoulders. Her body appeared to be still and without breath. For a moment, Soth cursed the ogres for their deeds, but then came the familiar moan.

Quickly, Soth leaped over the log and rolled the elf-maiden gently onto her side. Then he removed his leather gauntlet from his right hand and wiped the dirt and humus from the maiden’s face with the tips of his fingers.

Even through the dirt and grime that remained on her visage, Soth could see that she was utterly beautiful. Anger at the ogres flared within him once more as he thought about what the ugly brutes had done to this lovely, innocent flower and her companions.

He removed the gauntlet from his left hand and eased her body off the ground, sitting her upright against the log. Her body was thin and limp beneath her flowing pale green and brown robes. Still, despite the fact that she was barely heavier than a handful of down, Soth had the feeling she was a very strong woman.

When she was finally sitting comfortably Soth brushed more of her face clean, marveling at the prominence of her high cheekbones, the delicate points of her ears, and the softness of her goose-white skin, skin that had unfortunately been marred in spots by bruises and scrapes.

She was breathing easier now, yet still unconscious. Soth reached down around his waist and opened up a small pouch. Inside was a mixture of sharp and pungent herbs that Soth had used many times to awaken knights who had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head.

He took a pinch of the mixture and held it under the maiden’s nose. When she did not stir, he rubbed the herbs between his fingers, releasing a sharp new aroma into the air.

Finally she jerked her head away. Slowly, her eyelids began to rise. After several false starts, her eyes finally fluttered open. They were hazel in color, indicating to Soth that—considering the color of her hair and complexion of her skin—the party of elf-maidens on its way to Palanthas had probably originated in Silvanesti.

She turned her head to look at him …

And Soth felt his heart begin to pound beneath his breastplate like that of a squire sneaking a peek through the window of a lady’s bedchamber.

She was strikingly attractive, her beauty perhaps even rivaling that of Lady Korinne. But more than simple beauty was the air of nobility and grace she exuded, a quality that refused to be dulled, even by coming into contact with the rough and jagged edges of the ogres.

“Are you all right?” Soth asked softly, a little surprised to find his mouth dry as dust.

“Yes,” she said, the word sounding slightly melodic, as if it had been plucked from the middle of a verse. “I think so. Who … who are you?”

Soth eased one knee onto the ground and placed his arms on the other. He slipped off his helm and said, “I’m Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”

She smiled at him and said, “You saved my life.”

Soth opened his mouth to speak, but words would not come.

He gently helped the elf-maiden to her feet and began to lead her through the forest toward the clearing where he expected to find both the knights and maidens gathered. After a few steps it became apparent that the elf-maid had twisted her ankle during her struggle with the ogre. It was at least sprained, perhaps even broken.

“Allow me,” offered Soth, scooping the woman up in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way.

“Oh,” the elf-maid said as she was lifted off the ground.

“It’s easier this way,” said Soth, trying to make light of the close contact which might or might not have been necessary. If she had been an ugly old maid, would he have offered to carry her? Probably, but he would have done so a lot less enthusiastically.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” said the maiden, her voice sounding to his ears like that of a songbird.

“I was curious as to your name.”

“It’s Isolde,” she said, putting her arms around his neck to steady herself as he stepped over a fallen tree. “Isolde Denissa.”

“A lovely name,” said Soth. “For a lovely elf.”

She smiled at that. “So you’re charming as well as brave, strong and handsome.” She rested her head against his shoulder.

Soth felt warm all over and found himself firming up his grip even though there was no danger of dropping the lithe young elf.

As he stepped into the clearing however, the feeling of warmth vanished as he came under the scrutiny of his fellow knights and the elderly elf-woman.

Did she look too comfortable in his arms? Could his sudden—he tried to think of the right word—
affection
for her be so easily discerned from the look on his face?

“Is she all right?” asked the elf-woman, who had
undoubtedly been charged with the care of the maidens.

The question jarred Soth’s train of thought. Of course, with her eyes closed and her head resting upon his shoulder, she appeared to be near death in their eyes. “She’s been injured, but”—he paused for a moment as a wild thought leaped forward in his mind, quelling all other thoughts—“it’s nothing the healer won’t be able to mend.” He put her down on the ground to reunite her with her fellow travelers.

“The healer?” asked Colm Farold, looking the elf-maiden over. “She doesn’t look to be in need of Istvan.”

“On the outside no, but she appears to have suffered”—he hesitated slightly—“internal injuries which might be best left to the healer to remedy. She may very well heal on her own, but it’s always best to be sure.”

Farold gave Soth a curious look, but dared not contradict his lord twice. “Very well, milord. We can always attend the Knights’ Meeting next year.”

Soth raised his hand dramatically. “No,” he said. “These elf-maidens were on a holy pilgrimage to Palanthas. It is your duty as a Knight of Solamnia to see they arrive there without further harm.”

“Our duty?” asked Farold. “You say that as if you won’t be coming with us.”

“I won’t,” said Soth. “I will be escorting the injured elf-maid back to Dargaard Keep while you and the others continue on to Palanthas. Deliver them safely so that they may pledge themselves to Paladine, father of all that is good. Then, attend the Knights’ Meeting as heroes worthy of the title Knights of Solamnia.”

Farold smiled with pride and gratitude. Arriving in Palanthas escorting a group of maidens they’d rescued from ogre bandits would make the knights the talk of the entire meeting, a rare opportunity for the knights to be regarded with the highest esteem by their peers. “Thank you, milord.”

Soth shrugged his shoulders. “After she is in the care of
the healer, I’ll once again set out for Palanthas and join you there. You must extend my apologies to the grand master, and conduct yourselves with the utmost honor and decorum in my absence.”

“I will, milord,” said Farold.
“We
will.”

Soth nodded, then turned to inform the maidens of their plans.

“My knights will be escorting you the rest of the way to Palanthas,” he told the elderly elf-woman. “Meanwhile, I will be taking Isolde Denissa back to Dargaard Keep where she can receive proper aid at the hands of the keep’s healer.”

The elf-woman tilted her head back and looked at Soth down the length of her nose. “I’ve looked her over and her injuries seem to be minor. I think she’s healthy enough to continue on with us to Palanthas, but thank you very much for your most generous offer.”

The elf-woman was probably several hundred years old and had likely seen a great many things in her lifetime. She had acquired great wisdom through her years of experience and for that reason alone deserved Soth’s respect. Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow her to meddle with his plan.

“It’s not an offer,” he said plainly.

She looked at him with narrowing eyes. “You mentioned Dargaard Keep before. Who are you exactly?”

Soth realized that their first meeting had been somewhat rushed and they’d never properly introduced themselves. “I … am Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”

A mixture of shock, surprise and embarrassment traversed the old woman’s face at the mention of his name. Apparently she had heard of Soth at some point in her long life.

“Excuse me,
milord,”
she said, using the word even though she was not required to do so. “I was dubious of your intentions, but now that I know who you are I have
no doubt that Isolde will be safe in your care.” She finished her words by lowering her head slightly, an unmistakable sign of respect.

“You have my word as a Knight of Solamnia,” said Soth. “No harm will come to her.”

The ride back to Dargaard Keep was taken at a slow pace as the bump and jostle of a hard ride might further injure the young elf-maid.

For much of the time, Soth trailed Isolde by a horse length to the left. As they rode slowly across the plains he watched her ride, her long thin legs draped over the horse and sometimes made bare by a sudden gust of wind. The wind also played through her hair, making her dirty blond locks dance like flames in the light of the sun.

And even though Soth had never imagined that he’d be so enamored by an elf—in fact he’d never been particularly fond of the race to begin with—he somehow found himself becoming attracted to the maiden. Perhaps it was her mix of youthful innocence and womanly beauty, or perhaps it was the look of awe in her eyes when she spoke and looked at him. Whatever it was, he was enchanted by her. Of that, there could be no doubt.

“I’m becoming weary,” said Isolde. “Can we stop for a little while?”

Soth scanned the surrounding landscape. It was barren and flat and the sun beat down on them mercilessly. He would have liked to have stopped by a stand of trees or a rock formation, but he wasn’t about to suggest that Isolde continue on if she didn’t feel up to it.

“All right, we can stop here. But not for long.”

“Thank you, milord.”

“You may call me Loren.”

“Very well … Loren.”

They stopped on the trail and Isolde waited until Soth
had dismounted and could assist her from her mount. He reached up, put his hands about her waist and eased her off the horse. Before her feet touched the ground Isolde put her arms around Soth’s neck and held him close.

“I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done.”

Soth was surprised by how tightly Isolde held onto him, or perhaps surprised that she was so at ease when there were only inches between them.

“It was nothing, really,” said Soth, holding Isolde aloft because she didn’t seem in any hurry to get her feet onto the ground. “I did nothing that any Knight of Solamnia wouldn’t have done in a similar circumstance.”

“Perhaps, but it wasn’t just any Knight of Solamnia who saved me, it was you.”

“But—”

His words were cut off by a kiss.

A deep soulful kiss, more passionate than mere thanks would require.

Soth hesitated at first, but quickly felt himself giving in to the moment until he returned the kiss with as much urgency as it was given.

It was a long time before Isolde’s feet touched the ground.

When Dargaard Keep was well within their sights and he knew he would be seen from the highest of the keep’s towers, Soth felt the warm summer’s breeze touch the back of his neck like a cold, cold hand.

It had been so easy to kiss Isolde.

It had felt so natural. It was natural, too, that they ride together on his horse, leaving hers to trail riderless behind them.

But now with the red rose of Dargaard Keep blooming on the horizon, his thoughts turned to Lady Korinne and he felt a churning in the pit of his stomach, almost as if he
were going to be sick.

Did his attraction to Isolde mean that his love for Lady Korinne was waning? After all, Lady Korinne was herself an attractive woman whose beauty was known throughout Ansalon. Then why had he so easily forgotten about her upon seeing Isolde? What was it about the elf-maid that would prompt him to forget his lovely, loyal and most-cherished wife? What did Isolde possess that Korinne did not?