'It's true milady,' said Knight Valcic. 'We've heard the news now from several sources.'
Soth and his knights had been gone for over a week, but only now was Isolde hearing of her husband's fate in the Hall of High Justice.
'There's a good chance he's still alive,' said Valcic, obviously trying to look on the brighter side of things.
'They say he's hiding out in the mountains.'
'Thank you, Knight Valcic,' said Isolde, dismissing the young man with a wave of her hand. Then she walked over toward her bed and fell down on top of it.
Lord Soth, Knight of the Rose, she thought.
Outlaw!
It was hard to believe that one so respected and revered could fall so hard, so far, so fast.
And for what? The murder of Korinne and the child.
Ridiculous! She was sure of it.
Lord Soth had saved her life, had spent all of his life fighting for the cause of Good.
Something was wrong about all of this. When he returned to Dargaard
Keep, she would ask him about it.
And then they would begin the process of clearing his good name.
Yes, that was it. That's what she would do.
She brought her hands together, intertwined her fingers, and prayed to Mishakal for guidance.
Somehow, she knew, the Healing Hand would provide it.
Chapter 25
Brin Scoville rubbed his full belly after eating his fill of yet another satisfying dinner prepared by his wife. While he had toiled the entire day in the fields, she had labored within their modest kitchen making not only that evening's supper, but dozens of jars full of jams and other preserves.
It was hard work, but necessary to get them through the coming harsh winter on the plains.
And for some unknown reason, this winter seemed to have the makings of one of the worst yet. Scoville wasn't sure how he knew this. Perhaps it was his aching corns, or the stiff soreness down the length of his back, or the wintry sniffles that had come a few weeks early this year.
Whatever the reason, Scoville knew it was going to be a long, cold winter. Best to be prepared.
He watched his son and daughter play with a set of wooden blocks on the rug in front of the fireplace. They were darling children, quiet and well-mannered with a bright and happy future ahead of them. Sometimes,
Scoville would watch them play for hours, just for the simple pleasure of it.
Just then his wife brought his pipe and some tobacco to the table. He looked at the pipe, then at his wife, and smiled. 'Thank you, dear.'
She simply nodded and continued clearing the dishes.
With a practiced hand, Scoville rolled up the bowl of his pipe-not too tightly-and went to the stove. He searched for some glowing embers with which to light his pipe.
To his surprise the fire had gone out and the coals were cold. 'Wasn't there just a fire in the hearth?' he asked.
His wife turned around and looked strangely at the dead black coals. 'I just finished cooking; they should be red hot.'
Scoville put his hand over the ashes, then poked at them with his finger.
Cold as ice.
In fact the entire house seemed to be chilled.
'Papa,' said his son. 'The floor is getting cold. Could you light a fire for us?'
It was still too early to begin lighting fires in the main fireplace, but without a fire in the kitchen there was nothing else to keep them warm.
'I can do without a fire in here,' said the wife. 'Light the fire for the children and we'll all go to bed warm tonight.' 'Right,' said
Scoville, moving into the main room to be with his children. 'Well now, who wants to help?' 'Me,' said the boy.
'I do,' said the girl.
Together the children piled leaves and kindling onto the hearth while
Scoville worked a piece of flint.
But the flint did not spark. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he used against the flint, it simply would not spark.
He continued to try, without success.
The sun began to set.
Darkness and cold descended upon the house.
'Come now, Brin, children,' said the wife. 'We'll be warm enough in bed.'
The two children, chilled by the long wait, were more than eager to retire to the warmth of their clean flannel sheets and heavy woolen blankets.
Scoville continued to try to light the fire long into the night.
He went to bed tired, cold and at an utter loss as to the cause of the lack of spark or flame.
Something wasn't right, he concluded.
Chapter 26
Under the cover of a jutting rock face and shaded by a thick stand of fir trees, Meyer Seril examined the broad blades of the axe he'd taken from the executioner. One side had been pitted by his attempts to cut the chains in the central square of Palanthas. The other side, however, was still finely honed. He turned this side of the axe around to use it as the cutting edge.
'Swing the axe as hard as you can,' said Lord Soth, kneeling on the ground, his shackled wrists resting on the sides of the post so that the chain lay squarely across the wood. 'I trust you, Knight Seril.'
Seril nodded to Soth, thankful for the vote of confidence.
The chain was made of heavy steel and would require a tremendous blow from the axe to cut it. The axe was designed to cut through flesh and bone, not steel. The first blow would likely ruin the blade, so he might as well make it a good one.
He raised the axe over his head. It wavered there for a brief moment, then came streaking down. There was a sharp clink of metal striking metal.
Seril lifted the axe away.
Soth lifted his arms off the log.
The chain was still whole, but one of the links had nearly been severed.
Seril looked at the axe. The blade's edge was severely dented. There was still enough cutting area, but only enough for another blow. He raised the axe once more and brought it down with as much force as he could muster.
There was another clink of metal on metal, then the satisfying bite of metal into wood. The axe blade was embedded in the post.
Soth's arms were free.
They buried the post under a pile of leaves and humus and moved on.
While it might be possible for them to hide indefinitely in the mountains, none of the knights wanted that. The longer they remained in the mountains, the more time the pursuing Solamnic Knights would have to organize search
