activities.
But before the feast could be officially concluded, Lord Reynard Gladria and his wife Leyla had to make the presentation of Lady Korinne's dowry.
Rumors had been circulating for weeks about the size and contents of the dowry, but specific details had yet to be divulged.
At last, all would know.
Leyla Gladria stepped up before the table, holding her aged husband by the left arm, while Eiwon van Sickle, a Knight of the Sword from
Palanthas who had escorted the Gladrias to Dargaard Keep, held firmly onto the man's left.
When they were in place, a chair was brought for Reynard Gladria while
Lady Gladria made the presentation standing up.
'Dearest daughter,' she said, then turning to Lord Soth.
'And my new son…'
Soth wasn't sure the woman was saying the word affectionately or sarcastically, but he nevertheless nodded graciously.
'My husband and I have awaited this day for many, many years. And I know
I speak for my husband when I say that we couldn't have wished for a more suitable man for our precious daughter than the heralded Lord Loren
Soth, Knight of the Rose.'
Lady Gladria reached over and took Soth's hand in hers, squeezing it tight.
'And with our daughter married, we find that we are no longer in need of much of our holdings. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that we present to you the deeds to the lands surrounding Maelgoth as well as those spanning the northern edge of the Plains of Solamnia. This will extend Knightlund's western border across the Vingaard River, bridging much of the gap between Palanthas and Knightlund, and making the distance between our homeland and the new home of our daughter a much shorter one to traverse.'
For the second time in a very short while, Soth was at a loss for words.
So too was Lady Korinne, for all she was able to offer in response to her parent's gift were tears of joy.
At last Soth got up from the high table and walked down the slight slope to thank his new in-laws for their extremely generous gift.
He approached Reynard Gladria first, kneeling by the seated man and bowing his head deeply. 'Thank you milord,' he said, using the word somewhat improperly in order to show the extent of his gratitude.
The elderly man smiled, exposing a gap-toothed row of teeth. He placed a frail and bony hand on Soth's shoulder and said, 'Quite all right, my boy.' His voice wheezed out the words like a steelsmith's bellows clogged with coal dust. 'There's no one I'd rather see have it than a
Knight of the Rose.'
Soth nodded again, then stood up. He waited for Lady Korinne to finish thanking her mother, then he moved over and knelt before the woman.
'Thank you, milady.'
The elder Gladria remained stern faced. 'Treating my daughter well will be thanks enough, young man.'
Soth looked at her, realized that she was now his motherin-law, and simply said, 'Yes, milady.'
Leyla Gladria nodded her approval.
A breeze blew down off the Dargaard Mountains, cooling the early evening air and making it more comfortable for the assembled knights to continue their games and amusements.
At the foot of the mountains, on the south side of the keep, several knights were busy testing their skills against one another by fighting mock battles commonly referred to as 'friendlies.'
'Knights prepare!' cried Oren Brightblade, the honorary referee for the evening's contests.
The two opponents stood up and entered the large circle drawn upon the ground. Wearing a red sash on his right arm was Meyer Seril, a Knight of the Crown. Wearing the blue sash was Caradoc, also a Knight of the Crown.
Although the winner and loser of each friendly neither gained nor lost any standing in the order, the Knights of Solamnia were a proud group and none took losing such contests lightly. As a result, many of the friendlies between knights were as fiercely contested as many of the battles they fought against their usual foes such as the ogres or minotaurs.
'May the best knight win,' said Seril, smiling at his opponent.
Caradoc nodded and smiled politely. 'May the winner be the best knight.'
The combatants touched swords and stepped back so that their footmen could give the lightweight ringmail and leather armor covering the upper parts of their bodies a final check.
A moment later, the two men stood at the ready.
'Hup!' cried Oren Brightblade.
Suddenly the air rang with the clink and clang of steel against steel as each of the knight's thin, lightweight practice swords slashed through the air in search of a weakness in their opponent's defenses.
Whether Caradoc was tired from the long day of ceremony and festivities, or Meyer Seril was a more nimble fighter, was unclear. What was clear however, was that Seril was by far the better swordsman. He was able to block most of Caradoc's attempted blows and easily knocked Caradoc off-balance by slapping him gently on his arms and legs with the flat side of his broadsword, which was the primary object of the whole contest.
As the two knights continued to battle, other knights, those slightly older and perhaps more battle-weary, looked on, cheering on the combatants between gulps of frosty ale.
The time limit on the bout was close to running out and it was obvious to everyone present that Knight Seril would be declared the winner as he had easily outscored Caradoc by a margin of four-to-one.
But suddenly Caradoc faltered, as if he had been hurt by Seril's most recent blow to his armorless thigh.
'Caradoc, are you all right?' asked Seril, dropping his guard for a moment and leaving the right side of his body open to attack.
Caradoc rose up, swung his sword in a short and powerful arc and caught
Seril on the shoulder with the sharp leading edge of his blade. The ringmail connecting the patches of leather armor covering Seril's arm broke away allowing Caradoc's sword to cut a long, gash across Seril's upper arm.
'Stop the friendly!' called Oren Brightblade. 'Put down your swords!'
Seril grabbed his bleeding arm and fell to one knee. 'If I didn't know you better. Knight Caradoc,' he said. 'I would have thought you did that on purpose.'
'Who's to say he didn't?' called Amol Kraas, Seril's squire and a recent supplicant to the Order of the Crown.
Although it was not his place to pose such a question, none of the assembled knights objected to it. Perhaps many of them had been thinking the very same thing.
'On my honor as a Knight of Solamnia, I would never consciously hurt one of my fellows.'
'You feigned being hurt-' continued Kraas.
'Enough! Enough!' interjected Brightblade. 'Caradoc says the blow was accidental, and since he is bound to the Oath and the Measure, we must take him at his word.'
Kraas said no more, but was obviously dissatisfied.
The other knights also said nothing, but were seemingly more content to abide by Brightblade's decision.
'Now, bring this man to see Istvan, the healer,' said Brightblade. 'It's only a flesh wound, but I've seen many a man die from less.'
Two knights quickly dropped to the ground, took hold of Knight Seril and gently lifted him up, carrying him gingerly back to the keep.
After Seril was gone, and the footman had begun preparing the two knights competing in the evening's final friendly, Caradoc approached
Brightblade and asked, 'Do you declare a winner?'
Brightblade looked at Caradoc strangely. 'A knight has been injured.
Does it really matter who won?'
