Read Online Lord Soth by Edo van Belkom - Free Book Online

from Tyrell, a small village to the west of Dargaard Keep located on the eastern bank of the Vingaard River.
    “I didn’t cut it down, I only trimmed the branches that were hanging over my land,” said Thom Tregaard, a short squat man with a barrel-shaped belly, long white hair and a matching tapered, gray-white beard.
    As the two men blathered on, Soth rolled his eyes and shifted nervously in his high-backed throne chair, searching for that always elusive comfortable position in which to sit. It was the morning of Palast, the one day each week he set aside for the settling of land claims and similar disputes among the people of Knightlund. Sometimes the disputes were of interest to Soth, such as the ones involving some type of crime, the honor of a woman, or a chivalric sort of challenge between two parties.
    But this, this was a squabble between two clucking hens.
    “Which you had absolutely no right to do,” said Dowell.“A man’s tree is a man’s tree. The next thing you’ll be doing is cutting down my fence because you don’t like the shadow it casts upon your land.”
    “I’d never damage a fence. And certainly not one that serves well as a border between myself and the likes of you!”
    Soth leaned forward and held his head in his hands.
    “Not to worry, you wouldn’t catch me on that weed-infested patch of soil you dare to call a farm.” Do well crossed his arms and turned up his nose in disgust.
    “Oh, so my side of the fence is good enough for your tree, but not good enough for you, eh?” Tregaard’s face was turning a deep shade of red and his breath was growing deeper and more rapid.
    The two men moved closer, rolling up their sleeves in preparation for a fight.
    Soth had seen and heard just about as much as he could stand. Although he was mildly interested in seeing which of the two men would emerge the victor of a fistfight—Dowell having the longer reach, Tregaard possessing a decided weight advantage—he couldn’t, in good conscience, allow matters to get out of hand.
    “Enough!” he cried, his booming voice shocking the two farmers into silence. When he had their attention, Soth sat up straight in his chair and looked the taller of the two farmers straight in the eye. “Now, Vin Dowell, were some of your tree’s branches hanging over onto Tregaard’s land?”
    The farmer maintained eye contact with Soth for several seconds, then looked away. “Yes, milord.” The words were whispered, a mere shadow of the voice he’d used seconds before on his fellow farmer.
    “And you, Thom Tregaard, cut down the tree or just the branches?”
    Tregaard was quick to answer. “Just the branches, milord.”
    “And what of the fruit on those branches?”
    “They’re in his cold storage room—” barked Dowell.
    Soth held up his hand to silence the man.
    “Well?” Soth prodded Tregaard.
    “As he said, they are in my cold storage.”
    “I see,” said Soth, pausing a moment to consider the situation. The trick to finding a solution acceptable to both parties was to give them the illusion that each of them was coming away the winner. But, how to do that?
    “Since the branches were overhanging on Tregaard’s land, he was well within his rights to cut the offending branches from the tree.”
    Tregaard’s face was suddenly brightened by a big self-satisfied grin.
    “However,” continued Soth. “Because the tree was Dowell’s, the branches should be returned to him lest he should want to use them as firewood, and the fruit that was borne by those branches are
his
property and should be in
his
cold storage room by the end of the week. By Bakukal to be precise.”
    It was Dowell’s turn to beam.
    “Now, shake hands like gentlemen, and return to Tyrell as good neighbors.”
    “Yes milord,” said Dowell.
    “Thank you, milord,” said Tregaard.
    Both men sounded grateful, but nevertheless defeated.
    “Very well, then,” said Soth. “This matter is closed.”
    As spectators and other