Lord Soth (28 page)

The months passed like days for some, like years for others
.

For those inside the keep, the months flew by as countless hours were spent preparing the nursery, making clothes or guessing what name the new Soth might be blessed with.

But for Lady Korinne the winter moved at a crawl. While some of her early months were spent performing such motherly duties as decorating the nursery, much of her time was spent resting in bed under the almost constant supervision of the healer, Istvan. His regular examinations always concluded with the same proclamation “Everything between mother and child is as well as could be expected.”

But no matter how many times Korinne heard those words, they did little to ease the pain she felt inside. The child had become more than a simple burden upon her and at times she wondered why she had never heard other pregnant women complain of bouts of such constant, throbbing pain.

And as the months wore on, it was a surprise to no
one that an ever-increasing amount of Korinne’s time was spent at rest. Throughout the night and much of the day she’d lie in bed, either asleep or in a half-awake sort of daze in which she was almost literally blinded by the pain.

As a result, the winter days and nights seemed to be at a standstill for Lord Soth, who in aching anticipation of the birth of his child, found he could spend little time with his wife. When she was up and about she tried to occupy herself with some pleasant detail concerning the child-to-be. Or, if she were free, he would be occupied by some tedious, but nevertheless important, matter of state. When she slept, the healer had ordered that she not be disturbed, and when she was lying in her bed neither awake nor asleep, she was too affected by her pain to be much of a companion, or even very receptive to Soth’s awkward efforts at comforting her.

And so, on one of the coldest days of Deepkolt, Soth looked elsewhere in the keep for companionship. Weeks earlier, he had instructed the healer to provide Isolde with her own private quarters. The healer had done so gladly, putting the elf-maid in a room at the south end of the keep that had not one but two entrances, one leading in from the main hallway, and another leading in from a seldom-used storage room. Soth thanked the healer by promising to acquire more blue hyssop for him on his next trip to Palanthas, and never spoke of the matter again.

And now, Soth walked through the cold, damp storage room placing his hand against the inside of the moss-covered south wall to guide his way. When he came up against another wall, he patted his hands against it until he felt the rough grain of several wooden planks butted up against one another. Certain he’d found the door, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Who is it?” came the sweet voice from inside.

“It is I,” he said. “Lord Soth.”

Seconds later, the door was being opened.

The months continued to pass.

Brookgreen …

Yurthgreen …

Fleurgreen …

At last spring was in the air.

New buds appeared on the branches.

Flowers began to bloom.

And Korinne’s child was ready to come into the world.

Soth lay on the bed, his muscular naked body covered with a thin layer of sweat. At his side, the lithe form of Isolde, similarly damp with sweat, nestled into place within his arms. When she’d found a comfortable position she breathed out a deep sigh of satisfaction, then said, “The keep will soon have another mouth to feed.”

Soth’s smile was brief. Although he did not like to be reminded of his wife and unborn child when he was with Isolde, he’d never told the elf-maid not to mention Korinne, because the times she did were rare. “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “Korinne is due to birth the child any day now.”

Isolde looked at Soth with a coy sort of grin.

Soth noticed the look on the elf-maid’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not talking about Lady Korinne.”

Soth was silent for a moment. “If not Korinne, who then?”

“Me,” said Isolde. “I’m talking about me.”

Soth’s mouth opened, but he found himself unable to speak. He sat up in the bed and looked at the elf-maid grinning up at him like a kender who’d just borrowed a large cluster of priceless jewels.

“You mean …”

Isolde nodded.

At first, Soth was overjoyed, but slowly found himself becoming troubled by the news. All he could think of was the problems a bastard child would cause for him within the keep. The secrecy and lies, the problems his offspring—both of them—would have when they would inevitably fight one another for the legacy of the Soth name. He thought of his own half-brother and half-sister, both killed due to his orders to ensure his own succession as sole heir to the Soth name and to the throne of Knightlund.

In a single horrible moment, Soth realized that although he had vowed to distance himself from his father he had actually become his father, producing a bastard child just as his father had done so many years ago—a half-elven child at that.

The words of his father echoed cruelly in his ears.

“Don’t be so quick to condemn me, my son,” Aynkell Soth had said. “You are of my flesh and of my blood. You always will be. There’s too much of me in you for you to be so critical of my life.”

Soth shivered at the recollection. Then he looked at Isolde, saw the joy in her eyes, and knew he couldn’t bring himself to share with her the sense of dread that was clawing at his heart. “That’s wonderful news,” he stammered.

“It doesn’t sound as if—”

Isolde’s words were cut short by a knock upon the door that led out into the main hallway.

“Who is it?” asked Isolde, her voice calm.

“Beg your pardon, but is … milord with you?”

Isolde looked at Soth, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and fear.

“Who dares to call for me here?” bellowed Lord Soth, letting the person outside know that he didn’t look favorably upon such a blatant invasion of his privacy.

“It’s Caradoc, milord.”

Soth rose from the bed and moved toward the door.
“What is it?” he asked, the irritation gone from his voice.

“It’s your wife, milord,” said Caradoc. “She’s birthing the child and is calling for you.”

“I will be there at once.”

He turned to face Isolde, unable to say anything.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. “Go,” said Isolde. “Your wife needs you.”

Soth dressed hurriedly and as he rushed down the hallway found that he could hear the agonizing screams of Lady Korinne even before he reached the healer’s chambers. She was obviously in pain, a great deal of pain.

It is said that the pain of childbirth is the most easily forgotten, but Soth found this hard to believe.

When he reached the healer’s quarters he knocked on the door even though, in this situation, he wasn’t required to do so. After waiting a few moments, Soth realized no one had heard his knock over the loud cries of Lady Korinne. He opened the door and suddenly heard Korinne’s screams at full volume.

At first Soth winced at the sound. Although he’d heard men in battle cry out in agony, he’d never heard such screams as he was hearing now.

He hurried over to Korinne’s side. When she saw him, she relaxed somewhat and her wails lessened. He took her hand and held it as she panted to catch her breath.

She was drenched in sweat, her hair pasted down onto her forehead and across her face. Her lips were dry and cracked and her chest rose and fell at a frantic pace, as if she’d just completed a nonstop run from Palanthas.

“Loren,” she said when she was able. “I’ve been calling for you. Where have you been?”

Soth found it hard to say anything. He saw the trusting look in her eyes, the relief on her face upon his arrival and felt sick that he’d betrayed her. “I was,” he said. The next few words seemed to get stuck in his throat for a moment. “I was … reprimanding one of the knights.”

“Really,” she said, seemingly happy to have her mind
diverted by chatter. “Who was it? What did he do wrong?”

“That’s not important now,” said Soth. “What’s important is how you are feeling.”

“Can’t you see, I’m doing wonderfully—” A sudden stab of pain sliced through Korinne’s body and she arched her back. She let out a sharp cry, then lay back on the bed, her eyes closed and at rest.

Soth brushed a hand over Korinne’s face and looked over at the healer.

Istvan had been busy off in the corner preparing herb mixtures while Soth and Korinne had spoken. Now he moved to Korinne’s side, wiping her face with a damp cloth.

“What is happening?” asked Soth.

Istvan shook his head. “Everything appears to be progressing normally. I have delivered twenty-seven children in my time and all is as it should be. The pain she is feeling confounds me.”

“Can’t you prepare something to lessen it?”

“I’ve tried,” Istvan answered with a shrug. “But nothing seems to be working.” He looked Korinne over as he patted the damp cloth across her forehead. “Your presence seems to have calmed her. This is the first she’s been able to rest for hours.”

“Then I will stay until the child is born.”

“Thank you,” said Istvan. “It might help.”

Soth looked at Istvan, wondering about the healer’s choice of the word
might
. Something told Soth that the healer, as was his custom, knew more than he was letting on.

“I can see the head!” cried the healer, sweat dripping down off his nose. He’d wanted to call in an assistant hours ago, but Soth had forbidden it, not wanting any
more people than were necessary to see Lady Korinne in such a compromised state.

Soth was out in the hall just on the other side of the door. He had been in the room for the longest time, but his constant concern over Korinne’s agonized shrieks had prompted the healer to ask Soth to leave the room, allowing him to do his work without the interference and misguided concerns of an impassioned observer.

“You must push,” said Istvan. “Push harder!”

“I can’t,” cried Korinne, at the point of exhaustion.

Istvan believed her. He had never in his years seen such a lengthy and painful birth. Everything about the delivery of this child was slow and complicated when in truth there were absolutely no signs warranting complications, or pain for that matter. But here was Korinne, in labor half the day.