Lord Soth (32 page)

The cloud cover was complete now.

Thunder rolled within.

“So friends and colleagues, I implore you, since I have proven that I have powers comparable to yours, I ask that you allow me to ascend to the heavens and take my rightful place between Paladine and Mishakal as one of the greater gods of Krynn. Together, you will help me rule over Krynn so that Evil will never again dare to make its presence felt.”

The thunder grew louder.

“Take me now!” cried the Kingpriest. “Elevate me to my rightful place in the heavens and I will show you how to—”

A bone-jarring clap of thunder seemed to explode inside the clouds over the temple. The shock waves of the blast shook the temple to its foundations.

The Kingpriest struggled to keep his balance on the platform, managing to remain upright until the rumbling sound of the thunderclap had finally run its course.

“I demand that you make me one of you!” cried the Kingpriest.

The clouds began to roil angrily and the wind picked up, making his robes billow like flags in a storm.

“I command you!”

A bolt of lightning shot out from the clouds, hitting the Kingpriest’s platform and shattering it into a thousand splinters.

The Kingpriest toppled from his lofty perch, landing on his back and falling unconscious.

It began to rain, hard and cold.

The drops falling on the Kingpriest’s face stung his flesh like bitterly cold needles. He blinked his eyes open, saw the storm overhead and raised a clenched fist toward the heavens.

“You will come to regret this,” he cried.

Thunder boomed.

Jagged lightning pierced the blackness of the night.

“You might control the heavens, but I”—he placed a hand over his chest—“control the world.”

Another bolt of lightning shot out from the clouds, this time slamming into the slim standard-bearing tower above and behind him.

The tower began to topple.

The Kingpriest scrambled to get out of the way, and just managed to get inside before the tower crashed down onto the balcony, causing it to break away from the temple.

Chapter 21

Mirrel spent several uneventful days riding across the Solamnic
Plains on her way to Palanthas. She was a capable rider and a strong young woman who could handle herself on the sometimes harsh trail to the capital of Solamnia.

She had family in Palanthas, distant relatives who would take her in for a time until she got settled in the city and began a new life for herself. That was one of the reasons she was traveling to Palanthas, but not the most important one.

The thing that drove her so swiftly across the plains was the faint hope that she would be granted a private audience with the High Justice of the Knights of Solamnia, Lord Adam Caladen. If she were somehow granted that audience, she would be able to tell Lord Caladen what she had been telling those in Dargaard Keep these past few months. Only she wouldn’t tread as lightly as she had in the keep. If she were able to speak to the high justice, she would tell him of Lord Soth’s deeds as plainly and as graphically as she could.

If nothing came of it afterward, then at least she would be content in the knowledge that she had done her best to bring the truth to light. If people were still unwilling to look upon that light, then she would turn her back on it and let the matter rest once and for all.

When she told her relatives of her plans they thought her insane. The high justice was an important and busy man, they said, who had no time for a simple maid—a simple
former
maid—from an outlying keep.

But she remained undaunted. She was not just a simple chamber maid. She had been at one time, but she had been elevated in status and had been Lady Korinne’s lady-in-waiting. Surely the high justice would be happy to meet with her.

But her first visit to the Hall of High Justice on the shores of the Bay of Branchala in the west end of Palanthas was anything but successful. She was made to wait for hours in a cold and damp room, only to be forgotten by the knight who had told her to wait there.

That night, she traveled the darkened streets of Palanthas to the home of Leyla Gladria where she was immediately taken in. There she told her story to the elderly woman who was keen to hear anything having to do with the all-too-brief life of her beloved daughter and even briefer life of her long-awaited grandchild.

Finally, Mirrel had found a sympathetic ear, and more.

“I knew that man would be bad for my daughter, knight or no!” she said. “I always felt there was another side to Soth, a darker side. But he was so charming from the first, much too charming if you ask me.”

Mirrel listened attentively and patiently to the elderly woman as she talked for what seemed like hours. She didn’t mind, even when Leyla Gladria began repeating herself or crying out loud. Mirrel realized that the old woman still needed to come to terms with the loss of her daughter, and understood that if she could help ease some of the elderly woman’s pain, then she would be fulfilling her oath of
loyalty to the former Lady Korinne.

When Leyla Gladria’s bitter words came to an end and she had composed herself somewhat, she looked at Mirrel and nodded. “If it’s an audience with the high justice you want, then that’s just what you’ll get.”

“According to what I remember of these mountains, the hedge witch’s cabin should be somewhere near the foot of that mountain there.” Soth pointed at a great snowcapped mountain, one of the tallest peaks in all of the Dargaard Mountains.

“Lead the way,” said Caradoc. Soth’s seneschal was unsure of the purpose of their journey to this nearly uninhabited part of the Dargaard Range. He had mentioned something about killing a witch to preserve the truth, but none of it made much sense. Eventually, Caradoc had merely shrugged it off as yet another mysterious aftereffect of the tragedy that had befallen Lord Soth.

The two knights headed south into the deep dark rift in the mountain range called the Soul’s Wound. After an hour’s ride they came upon the small stone cottage, an odd structure partially obscured by the encroaching mountains which loomed over it like a tidal wave ready to crash down upon it at any moment.

“There it is!” cried Caradoc.

Soth kicked at the ribs of his mount and hurried toward the small stone cottage. Caradoc followed.

The windows of the cottage were dark and lifeless.

Soth dismounted and walked up to the front door. After a moment of hesitation he drew his broadsword, then reared back and kicked down the door. He crouched down to fit through the doorway and entered the cottage with his sword held out in front of him.

Slowly he moved through the room, searching the dark corners.

For what? Caradoc wondered.

At last he turned back toward the entrance, an angry scowl on his face. “The hag is gone!” he said.

And then suddenly his broadsword was slicing through the air in a fit of rage, smashing chairs and tables and anything else the blade could find and destroy.

Caradoc first covered his face to protect it from flying debris, then stepped outside and waited patiently for Soth’s fury to run its course.

The next morning a trio of knights arrived at the home of Mirrel’s relatives and a most handsome man with long red hair and an equally long scarlet mustache knocked on the door.

Mirrel answered the door, still dressed in her nightdress.

“Are you Mirrel?” asked the knight. “The former lady-in-waiting of Lady Korinne of Dargaard Keep?”

“Yes,” said Mirrel, at a loss as to what was going on.

“Lord Caladen has asked us to escort you to the Hall of High Justice. Please make ready to leave immediately.”

Mirrel hurriedly changed her clothes, then rode with the knights to the Hall of High Justice. Upon their arrival they were sent immediately into the inner hall. Then Mirrel alone was led up to a heavy wooden door bearing the symbol of the Knights of Solamnia—the majestic kingfisher with its wings half extended, grasping a sword with its sharp claws. There was a rose beneath the bird, and a crown above it.

She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a voice.

She opened the door. Sitting in the middle of the room was Lord Caladen. Across from him was another chair, presumably for her to be seated upon. There were no other windows or doorways to the room; what was said within it never went beyond its four walls.

She entered the room and sat down, her heart pounding hard inside her chest and her throat uncomfortably dry.

Lord Caladen smiled.

At once, Mirrel felt more relaxed.

“Leyla Gladria has told me that I might be interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“Very interested,” said Mirrel, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

“All right, then. Tell me.”

And she did.

Murder, thought Lord Caladen. It was a serious charge. And the murder of a man’s own wife and child, well, there was no more serious matter on the face of Krynn.

But could someone as vaunted as Lord Loren Soth, Knight of the Rose, be capable of such a crime? He was an excellent leader, a fearless warrior and from all accounts a kind and just man.