"It would be amusing to see you try," Soth said calmly, "but I will do you the favor of preventing you from dishonoring yourself in front of your troops." He gestured to Aderre's dagger. "Unless you plan to raise that blade against me, I would suggest you sheathe it."
The Invidian troops stirred. The human soldiers were disciplined enough not to draw their swords, but the ogres raised their clubs and muttered threats. All were ready to charge, awaiting only the word of Lord Aderre.
"It's tempting," Malocchio said after a tense moment. He slipped the dagger back into his sleeve and continued, "You rested far too long upon your throne of dust. Things have changed while you slumbered, dead man. Powers have arisen that do not fear you."
"They should," Soth said. "The carcass flapping at your feet like a torn sail should be proof enough of that."
Malocchio shrugged. "They say your kingdom fares little better than this unfortunate soul. Travelers carry back reports of-"
"To the heart of the matter at last," Soth interrupted. "Call them travelers or agents or spies, I will have no more of your minions crossing into my domain."
"Your own people are more than happy to help me," Malocchio said snidely. "They'll tell me everything they know about you, about your land, about anything, so long as I don't send them back to Sithicus."
He pulled the remaining half-elf forward; the fellow was so shocked by the fate of his twin that he could only stare. Malocchio looked at him and laughed. "He doesn't seem too bright, but that's what you get with half-breeds, eh? Of course, you wouldn't know about that. Against your military code to sire bastards, I would think."
Magda gritted her teeth. Here, at last, she understood the reason Malocchio had trotted out these particular traitors. They were a test. One was meant to gauge the death knight's magic, the other to discern the state of his memory. Malocchio must have learned enough of Soth's history to know about the son he'd fathered with the elf maid.
The Vistana opened her mouth to respond, to say something that would spoil Malocchio's test. She never got the chance. Lord Soth waved one gauntleted hand, as if to wipe the trembling half-elf from existence. "Enough of these games," the death knight rumbled. "You dally with the past, and I am here to discuss the future."
"Then we have nothing to discuss." Malocchio shoved the half-elf aside. The cracked facade of civility was gone, shattered finally by a towering rage. "The future belongs to me, and you forfeited any place in it by consorting with that Vistani trash. I mean to purge every last one of her kind from the world, dead man. Do not doubt that for one moment."
"I do not doubt your intent," Soth replied coolly, "and I care nothing for the fate of the gypsies within your lands. But know that Magda and her troupe are my subjects, my allies. This alliance is as my power: unquestionable, inviolate. I will not stand for any discourtesy shown to her troupe by you or your agents."
Discourtesy, Magda mused. An odd term for the slaughter Aderre has in mind for us. She regarded the death knight, standing stiffly by her side. It's as if he's speaking from rote, she thought, drawing half-remembered words from his order's ancient code.
"Furthermore," Soth continued, "you will cease any traffic with my subjects, particularly the elves of the Iron Hills. You would be ill-advised to offer support to them or their leader."
Malocchio could scarcely contain himself. He turned his back to Soth, as if to walk away, then whirled around and stabbed an accusing finger at him. "You have no right to lecture me like some, some… child. If the White Rose and her Thorns will bring me one step closer to seeing that whore dead, I will empty my treasury to fund their war with you."
The next few minutes of Malocchio's rant were lost to Lord Soth. A single word sounded through his mind again and again: her. The White Rose was a woman.
Since he had risen from the throne at Nedragaard Keep, the death knight had been tormented by myriad fractured memories. The strongest of these was a woman's face-a dark-haired beauty with a crooked smile. Her image flitted about the ruined castle of Soth's memories, always out of reach, just a turn of the corner away. Now, thanks to Malocchio's revelation, that phantom had a form and a name.
She was a warrior, a general in the Dark Queen's armies on Krynn. He had been dead for hundreds of years when he met her, but Soth instantly recognized the woman as his perfect foil, a dark gem with facets enough to keep him occupied for all eternity. The fractured memory had healed itself, and she was revealed before his mind's eye. She stood defiant, clad in the blue armor of a dragon highlord.
Kitiara!
She must be the White Rose.
In the hours before he'd been drawn into the netherworld, Lord Soth had attempted to capture Kitiara's soul. He had planned to raise her as his undead consort. That plan would have succeeded, too, had it not been for the treacherous ghost who had served as his seneschal on Krynn-Caradoc, the death knight recalled bitterly. That whimpering cur had attempted to barter the captured soul for some reward so trifling Soth could not recall it now. The betrayal had cost Soth dearly. Before he could retrieve Kit's essence, he found himself transported far from Krynn, stranded in the domain of Strahd von Zarovich.
Kitiara's soul must have been taken, too, Soth decided. It had eluded him for all these years. Now, though, she had shown herself. Of course her army knew his true history; she had witnessed some of his dark deeds herself. Soth smiled grimly; it seemed Kit had not lost her will to fight. He was certain, though, that he would win her to his side in the end. It was their destiny.
The death knight's sudden preoccupation was lost on neither Magda nor Malocchio. The raunie watched the Invidian troops, alert to the possibility of attack. Though she tried not to betray her concern, she could not help but glance at Soth. The death knight's burning eyes were little more than faint sparks. His arms hung slack at his sides.
The lord of Invidia continued to catalogue his grievances against Soth and Sithicus, pausing now and then to voice his hatred for the Vistani and anyone who harbored their kind. Hidden within his rant were the words of a command. It was heard only by the poisonous serpents that lay coiled near the river. These creatures, by the lives they had stolen, had helped the waterway earn the name "Widow's Tears."
At Malocchio's subtle bidding, a trio of serpents crossed from the weed-choked bank on the Invidian side of the river and slithered onto Sithican soil. With the stealth only snakes possess, they crept along the rail. Hidden by the lengthening shadows of twilight, they crawled to within striking distance of Magda's legs.
With a savage snarl, Sabak whirled to meet them. In the blink of an eye, he had two of the snakes in his jaws. Green poison and limp pieces of reptilian flesh mingled with the hound's own frothy drool and hung like icicles from his chops.
Alerted by Sabak's snarl, Magda turned in time to kick the third serpent away, back toward Sithican soil. The hound took off after the retreating snake. As he bounded across the bridge, Sabak's paws burned smoking prints into the stones. Like his ancestor, the mythical hound of Kulchek the Wanderer, this beast did not hunt without leaving a clear trail for his master.
The last serpent was almost to the grass and relative safety when Sabak grabbed its tail and flung it from side to side. The serpent reared, hissing loudly and displaying its glistening fangs. Sabak paused for a moment; the potential threat this creature posed was clear even to his canine intelligence. He made a few quick feints at its head, trying to draw the serpent forward. Finally, the enraged snake lunged toward one of Sabak's front paws. The hound sidestepped the attack and snatched the creature by the tail. With a deliberate twist of his neck, Sabak snapped the serpent's head against the bridge. Sabak's tail swished happily as he sniffed the gory remains.