maid, a virgin priestess. He carried her off to Dargaard Keep, then murdered his first wife, to have her out of his way.'
'Lies!' Nikol cried, white-lipped. 'I don't believe it! No true knight would break his vows like that! No true knight would do such a monstrous thing!'
'Yet, one did,' came a deep voice.
Lord Soth stood in the room.
Part VIII
Michael, trembling, rose to his feet. Nikol turned to face the knight. Her hand went to her sword, but fell, nerveless, at her side. The accursed knight's chill pervaded the small room. His flame-eyes were fixed, not on the two who stood before him, but upon the book.
'That tells my story?' Soth asked, gesturing with his gloved hand to the book on the table.
'Yes,' Michael answered faintly. Nikol fell back, to stand by his side.
'Turn the book toward me, that I may read it,' Soth ordered.
Hands shaking, Michael did as ordered, shifting the heavy, enormous volume around for the death knight to view. An awful darkness filled the room, doused the lamplight, grew deeper and darker as time passed. The only light was the burning of the flame-eyes, which did not read, so much as devour, each page. Michael and Nikol drew near each other, clasped each other tightly by the hand.
'You did these terrible deeds?' Nikol asked, her voice as small and unhappy as a child's, whose dream has been shattered. 'You murdered…'
The blazing eyes lifted; their gaze pierced her heart.
'For love. I did it for love.'
'Not love,' Michael said, the warmth of Nikol's touch giving him strength. 'Lust, dark desire, but not love. She — the elven maid — she hated you for it, when she found out, didn't she?'
'She loved me!' Soth's fist clenched in anger. He glanced down at the page. His hand slowly relaxed. 'She hated what I had done. She prayed for me. And her prayer was answered. I was to be given the power of stopping the Cataclysm. I was on my way to do so, when I stopped at your castle, Lady.'
The deep voice was sad, filled with regret, a bitter sorrow that wrung the heart. The darkness deepened until they could see nothing except the flaming eyes, the reflection of their fire in the charred and blackened armor. The noise of the mob faded away, became nothing more than the keening of the wind.
'And I turned aside, as it says here.' Soth gestured at the flame-lighted page. 'But it was Paladine who tempted me to do so. Elven priestesses, enamored of the Kingpriest, told me that the woman I loved was unfaithful. The child she had born was not mine. Wounded pride, soul-searing jealousy, overwhelmed me, drove me to abandon my quest. I rode back, accused my love, falsely accused her… The Cataclysm struck. My castle fell. She died in the fire… and so did I.
'But not to stay dead!' Soth's mailed fist clenched again. His anger flared. 'I awoke to endless torment, eternal pain! Free me. Cleric. You can. You must. You are a true cleric.'
He stretched out his ghostly hand to the medallion. 'The goddess has blessed you.'
'Yet she does not bless you,' said Michael, the words falling from fear-numbed lips. 'You lied to us, my lord. The gods did not curse you unjustly, as you would have had us believe. All the evil passions that led you to disgrace and downfall are still alive within you.'
'You dare speak so to me? You dare defy me? Wretched mortal! I could slay you with a word!' Soth's finger hovered near Michael's heart. One touch of that death-chilled hand, and the heart would burst.
'You could,' Michael answered, 'but you won't. You won't kill me for speaking the truth. I hear your regret, my lord. I hear your sorrow. Better feelings within you war with the dark passions. If you were wholly given over to evil, my lord, you would not care. You would not suffer.' 'Bitter comfort you offer me. Cleric.' Soth sneered. 'It could be your redemption,' Michael said softly.
Soth stood long moments in silence. Slowly, his hand lowered. It went to the book, lying on the table. The fingers followed the words, as though the death knight were reading them again. Michael clasped the medallion in one hand, Nikol's hand in the other. Neither spoke. Not that it would have mattered. The death knight seemed unaware of their presence. When he spoke, it was not to them.
'No!' he cried suddenly, lifting his head, his voice to the heavens. 'You tempted me, then treated me unjustly when I fell! I will NOT ask your forgiveness. It is you who should ask mine!'
Flames sprang up, engulfing the page, the book, seemed likely to set fire to the room. Michael fell back with a cry, shielding Nikol with his body, his hand raised to ward off the searing heat.
'WHAT is the meaning of this?'
Astinus's voice fell over them like cool water, doused the flames in an instant. Michael lowered his hand, blinked, staring through an afterimage of fiery red that momentarily blinded him.
Lord Soth was gone; in his place stood the library's master.
'I cannot let you two out of my sight a moment, it seems,' stated Astinus coldly.
'But, Master. Didn't you see him?' Michael gasped, pointed. 'Lord — '
Nikol dug her nails into his arm. 'Tell this old fool nothing!' she whispered urgently. 'Forgive us, Master,' she said aloud. 'Have you brought the Disks of Mishakal?'
'No,' said Astinus. 'They are not here. They have never been here. They will never be here.'
'But…' Michael glared at the man. 'You said you went to get them…'
'I said you wanted them. I did not say I would get them,' Astinus replied with calm. 'I went to open the doors.'
'The great doors! The doors to the library!' Nikol gasped. 'You… opened them! You're mad! Now there's nothing to stop the mob from entering!'
'At least,' said Astinus, 'they will not harm the woodwork.'
The rising clamor of the mob was much louder than before. They were chanting, 'Burn the books, burn the books, burn the books!'
Michael looked at the book on the desk. It was whole, unharmed. The fire had not touched it. He stared at Astinus and thought he saw the tiniest hint of a smile flicker on the stern lips.
'You two can escape out the back,' said the master.
'We should,' said Nikol, regarding him with scorn. Shoving past Michael, she drew her sword, started for the door. 'We should leave you to the mob, old man, but there are others here besides you and, by the Oath and the Measure, I'm bound to protect the innocent, the defenseless.'
'You are not bound. You are not a knight, young woman,' said Astinus testily.
Nikol, however, had already gone. They could hear her booted footsteps racing down the hall. And they could hear, as well, the rising tumult of thousands. Michael took hold of his staff, set out after Nikol. As he passed Astinus, who continued to regard him with that faint smile, Michael paused.
''This woman is far more worthy than any of you to wield the sword and wear the armor of a knight,' ' he quoted, pointing back at the book that stood upon the desk. 'Soth said that. You can read it here.'
He bowed to Astinus and left to join Nikol in death.
The mob had been astonished to see the master open the great doors that led into the Library of Palanthas. For a moment, the sight of Astinus, standing framed in the doorway, even curbed the loquacity of the Revered Son, who certainly had never expected such a thing. His jaw went slack. He stared foolishly at the master, who not only opened the doors, but bowed silently to the people before leaving.
Then Nikol appeared. Alone, she advanced to stand before the great doors.
'Astinus asked me to tell you,' she called, spreading her hands in a gesture of welcome, 'that the library is always open to the public. The wisdom of the ages is yours. If you enter, do so with respect. Lay down your weapons.'
The crudest, most murderous villain in the crowd could not help but applaud such courage. And most of the people were not murderers or villains, but ordinary citizens, tired of fighting poverty and disease and misfortune,
