"The only others I have asked to join me are Caradoc and Colm Farold.
And now you. My three most loyal knights."
At last Kern swallowed and was able to speak. "I'd be honored, milord," he said in a rush of breath.
Soth nodded and placed a hand on Kern's shoulder.
"Thank you."
The sun shone brightly over the jagged peaks of the Dargaard Mountains as if Mishakal herself, the Healing Hand, was showing Soth the way.
Unlike his departures in the past, there were few people present to see him off. The knights were there, of course, some wishing they could accompany Soth, others no doubt happy to be left behind.
Isolde was present, dressed in a dark rose-colored gown which she wore as a show of support for her husband's quest. If she was saddened by the prospect of Soth's departure, her faith in Mishakal and her own strength of character were helping her to hide it well.
Soth hoped some of that strength would be passed on to his son. It would serve him well in his later years as a Knight of Solamnia. Soth realized that such a thought was something of a wild fantasy, given that the
Knights of Solamnia would never accept the half-breed son of a disgraced knight. But, if his quest were successful, if he saved Krynn from the ravages of the Cataclysm, there might be a chance for his son.
He approached Isolde, took her hand in his. "Speak well of me to the boy."
"I will."
"And make sure you tell him that I gave my life as much for him as for the all people of Krynn." "I won't have to tell him," said Isolde.
"Minstrels and storytellers will sing it to him wherever he may go."
Soth nodded, and leaned forward to kiss her.
As the kiss ended, Isolde lowered her head, covered her face with her hands and wept softly.
Soth resisted the urge to try and comfort her-it was too late for that now-and moved on to the maid who held Peradur in her arms. He took the bundled child from her, held him close to his face and whispered, "When you grow older, don't curse me for abandoning you. I am doing this for you because I know your world will be a better place without me in it."
The child made a gurgling sound, as if in understanding.
Soth kissed his son's forehead and returned him to the arms of the maid.
After a final look at the child, he turned away and joined the three waiting knights-Caradoc, Farold and Kern.
Then he rode out of the keep without looking back.
Normally it would take Soth and his knights at least ten days to reach
Istar, but at the rate they were traveling it would likely take them closer to twenty.
For Soth, there seemed little point in rushing headlong toward his death. Traveling at a relaxed pace allowed him to enjoy what would be his last few weeks of life. It also gave him the chance to reflect on his life, the mistakes he'd made, the errors in judgment, the sins he'd committed.
By the end of the third day, Soth was convinced that sacrificing his life was the best thing he could do. After all, he was a Knight of
Solamnia and the only thing he'd ever wanted in his life was to be one of the greatest men the knighthood had ever seen. For a time he had achieved that goal and had basked in the glory of being one of the best.
But now, he was no longer best. He was least. He was worst. He wasn't even a knight anymore, but a man sentenced to death. Soth was a fugitive from justice and a source of shame to his beloved Knights of Solamnia.
He had made a mockery of the knighthood.
Succeeding on this quest would return them to their former glory.
He would give up his life.
It was for the best.
The knights headed east after leaving Dargaard Keep, then traveled south along the eastern foot of the Dargaard Mountains.
On the morning of the third day, they changed their direction, and began heading southeast through Estwilde, along a seldom used trail that would take them across the broad, hilly basin between the Dargaard Mountains and the northeastern tip of the Khalkist Mountains.
Unlike the smooth grasslands of the plains of Solamnia, Estwilde was covered by rugged foothills, pine forests and high mountains.
And while Estwilde was famous all over Krynn for its dangerous inhabitants-everything from evil humans to goblins, from ogres to hill dwarves-Soth and his men saw not a soul on their journey.
"Do you think they recognize us as Knights of Solamnia and are keeping a respectful distance?" pondered Colm Farold after they'd been riding the trail through Estwilde for almost a day without seeing any sign of life.
"Since when do ugly beasts such as goblins and ogres respect anything about the knighthood?" asked Caradoc.
The knights laughed.
Soth did not.
"It is Paladine," he said.
"What?" asked Farold.
"It is Paladine," Soth repeated. "He is guiding our way, assuring safe passage so I may complete the quest unhindered by such distractions as ogres and goblins."
The knights fell silent. They had never heard Soth speak so solemnly about his quest before. The jovial camaraderie they had been experiencing was gone.
Caradoc tried to get it back. "Well as long as Paladine is watching out for us, maybe he could see to it that a goat crossed our path. I'm half starved."
Something appeared up ahead along the trail.
"What's that?" asked Wersten Kern, pointing.
"Caradoc asked for a goat," said Soth. "What else would it be?"
Caradoc and Kern drew their swords and kicked at their mounts.
Indeed it was a goat.
And a delicious one at that.
The air in the northern tip of the Khalkist Mountains was cold and dry.
The knights had been riding for more than ten days and were growing weary in the thin mountain air. Still, they continued on undaunted but looked forward to getting past the hilly, barren mountainsides and onto the much warmer plains of Istar.
At least as they neared Istar they would come into contact with others.
The journey so far had been rather dull because Soth had few words for them and they'd exhausted most topics of discussion days ago. And, truth be told, with Soth doomed to an inevitable and horrifying death, no one felt much like talking. Crossing paths with someone else, be they human, elf, dwarf, ogre or some manner of beast, would be a blessing.
They passed the northern coastal settlement of Thoradin, a sprawling village referred to as a "kingdom" by the mountain dwarves who lived there. The knights kept themselves a half-day's journey to the south of the village lest they be spotted by wandering dwarfs and asked to pay a visit to the king.
And now they entered an area of the Khalkist Mountains rumored to be crawling with Zakhar, a reclusive and mysterious race of dwarves horribly disfigured by an ancient mold plague and ostracized from the rest of dwarven culture. According to the tales, the Zakhar-a word meaning "cursed ones"-killed any non-Zakhar who trespassed on their land.
The knights looked forward to meeting up with the Zakhar. In addition to giving their swords a workout, the ugly beasts would provide them with something to talk about the rest of the way to Istar.
"Did you see that?" asked Caradoc.
"See what?" said Farold.
"There, up ahead on the trail. Movement in the brush." "I didn't see anything," said Kern.
"There was something," said Caradoc. "I swear."
"Perhaps the cold has numbed your brain," said Kern.
"There is nothing there."
"Quiet!" commanded Soth. "There is something there."
The knights all looked ahead to see what it was. There, standing on the trail were three elf-maids.