Эдо ван Белком - Lord Soth

Soth turned his head the other way and saw scores of his fellow knights from all three of the orders offering their congratulations and best wishes. Soth nodded to each in turn as he continued to scan the gathering. Then when he looked directly behind him, he saw a wall of bodies crammed into every available corner of the courtyard, some even sitting atop the shoulders of the more sturdy in the crowd. Even the balconies and battlements were full of onlookers and well-wishers. This was a momentous occasion in Soth’s life and he was glad there were record numbers of people who wanted to be a witness to it.

The low murmur of voices was silenced by the opening of the door to the Rose Knights Council’s room. Oren Brightblade and Dag Kurrold were first to exit and were quickly escorted back onto the platform by the young knights who, like everyone else, were eager to hear the Rose Knights Council’s decision.

A moment later High Warrior Lord Olthar Uth Wistan, High Clerist Lord Cyril Mordren, and High Justice Lord Adam Caladen took their places at the high table.

They were all silent and their faces were strangely solemn.

Watching them take their seats, Soth was suddenly worried that things were about to go terribly wrong. Had the Knights Council been made aware of his father’s indiscretions? Had they somehow learned about the measures he had taken six months previous? If they had, it would mean his ascension to the Order of the Rose would be rejected; indeed, even his life as a Knight of Solamnia might well be over.

The sweat began to bubble up on his brow.

Lord Adam Caladen looked down at Soth. “Knight Soth,” he said. Lord Caladen raised his head to address the gathering. “The Knights Council has considered your application carefully and it is our opinion that—”

Soth drew a breath and held it.

“—you immediately be admitted into the Order of the Rose.”

Soth exhaled.

The courtyard erupted in applause. Hats, helms and gloves flew into the air in celebration.

Soth remained kneeling, knowing the ceremony was still not completed.

Lord Caladen stepped down off the platform and walked out into the courtyard until he stood in front of the young Knight of the Sword. After a few seconds, the cheering died down, allowing Lord Caladen the chance to be heard. “Arise, Knight Soth.”

Soth got to his feet.

“And from this day forward be known to all as Lord Loren Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.”

Four knights stepped into the courtyard carrying a shining new breastplate bearing the symbol of the rose in its center. After placing the breastplate at Soth’s feet, they helped him remove his scarred and dented one bearing the symbol of the sword, then placed the new breastplate into position.

With his armor now complete, Lord Soth absolutely gleamed.

He bowed to Lord Caladen and the rest of the Rose Knights Council, then turned to face the bulk of the crowd. He drew his sword, raised it high over his head, and said, “Est Sularus oth Mithas.”

Then he repeated the words in Common.

“My Honor is My Life!”

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, this time accompanied by a shower of yellow, white and red roses.

“He is so very handsome,” said one of the many maids and ladies who had gathered in Korinne’s bedchamber to help her pass the hours before her greatly anticipated wedding to Lord Soth in the morning.

“Not to mention big and strong,” said another.

“That he is,” agreed several others.

“If you are lucky,” said Lady Gelbmartin, a large, robust woman who was a cousin of Korinne, and whose husband, Lord Gelbmartin, was the steward of Vingaard Keep, “he’ll put both those qualities to good use on that bed over there.” She pointed to the huge canopied four-poster bed on the other side of the room.

All of the women laughed.

“If he’s anything like his father,” said Lady Gelbmartin, “you two should be busy just about every night, Palast morn to Linaras eve.”

Again, laughter coursed through the room.

Korinne smiled. Although she’d never said so in as many words, she was looking forward to her wedding night with great anticipation. And she knew Soth was, too.

When the laughter died down, Lady Gelbmartin chattered on. “Aynkell Soth is getting on in years, but that hasn’t stopped him from flirting with every pretty woman he sees. Why, just today I was—”

Lady Gelbmartin stopped talking when she saw three maids approaching the gathering carrying a gift-wrapped box and a bundle of six red roses.

“Milady Korinne,” said one of the maids, a woman by the name of Mirrel who’d lived and worked in Dargaard Keep as a laundress even before it had been completed. “Allow us to welcome you to the keep. It will be our pleasure to serve you as loyally and faithfully as we have served our Lord Soth.”

One of the maids gave Korinne the roses and box. She sniffed at the roses, then pulled the ribbons off the box and opened it. Inside was a white gown made of the softest and sheerest of fabric, which when worn would do nothing for the sake of modesty.

“Thank you,” said Korinne, standing up and holding the gown against her body at the shoulders. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“If he has a heartbeat!” said Lady Gelbmartin.

Korinne blushed.

The rest of the women laughed.

Elsewhere, Lord Loren Soth sat comfortably in one of the keep’s smaller dining halls in the company of his fellow knights, including the thirteen loyal knights under his command. He finished his tankard of ale in a gulp and before he could place it back on the table, a footman made sure another frosty tankard was there waiting for him to sample.

“Thank you my good man,” he said, blowing the white head of foam from the top of the tankard. Then he picked the tankard up from the table and raised it high in the air. “To wedded bliss!” he shouted.

“To wedded bliss!” came the cry of dozens of voices, a few of which were slow to answer the call causing a strange echo to reverberate through the room.

“Bliss! Wedded bliss! Bliss! Bliss!”

And finally one last cry from a knight rudely awakened by all the noise. “To bedded wiss!” he stammered, grabbing his tankard and raising it up, only to realize it was empty.

The knights laughed raucously and easily. After what seemed to be endless quests and journeys across the continent of Ansalon, battling evil forces in the never ending fight for the cause of Good, this gathering, filled with such camaraderie and good cheer, was a more than welcome relief, in fact, so happy were the men to see old friends and fellow knights that (although no one would be foolish or brave enough to suggest it) the atmosphere pervading the room would have likely been as warm even without the lubricating effects of the ale.

“With a woman as beautiful as Korinne Gladria,” said Wersten Kern, one of the most loyal of Soth’s own knights, “I should think wedded bliss would be a certainty.”

“Truth be told.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Paladine speaks!” came the call of the knights, followed by the sounds of clinking tankards and the slosh of ale.

“Yes,” continued Wersten Kern. “And if Lady Gladria doesn’t give our good Lord Soth the desire to produce many, many heirs, then he has no business being such a famed Knight of Solamnia.”

At another time Kern’s comment might have been construed as being covetous of Lady Gladria, but in the company of his fellow knights, the sentiment was understood.

The room erupted again in laughter and the sound of more clinking tankards, even a shattered one, which brought on still more laughter.

Meyer Seril, a Crown knight originally from Caergoth, the capital city of Southland, was next to speak. “Certainly Dargaard Keep shall soon be filling up with young knights eager to follow in their father’s footsteps.”