Obsidian Ridge

by Jess Lebow

  Genevie smiled and waved her on. “You go, my lady. I’ll tidy up here.”

  “Thank you, Genevie.”

  The messenger stepped back, and the princess headed off to meet her father.

  “Is there something else?” asked Genevie.

  The messenger stood in the open doorway, watching the princess disappear down the hall. When she was completely out of sight, he turned his attention back to the handmaiden.

  “Yes,” he said, producing a sealed wooden box—runes inscribed from one end to the other on its outside. “This came for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The messenger nodded and held it out. The moment Genevie’s hand touched the box, the runes lit up, bluish white. They glowed, then grew dim, the runes disappearing as the light went out.

  The lid popped open, and Genevie placed her palm on top, holding it closed.

  “Thank you,” she repeated, looking the messenger in the eye. “You are free to go.”

  The messenger gave her a sideways glance, then bowed and left.

  Closing the door behind her, Genevie took the box to the cluttered table and lay it down on top of the sheet and the princess’s books beneath. She opened the lid and pulled out a piece of parchment. Unfurling it, she read the inscription on its surface. With each word she read, her brows lowered more and more, and her face reddened. Her hands trembled as she neared the end.

  When she finished, Genevie rolled the parchment and placed it back inside the box. Holding it in her open palm, she spoke three words, and the box burst into flames.

  The light from the fire overpowered even the late morning daylight coming from the tall windows. It cast the handmaiden’s shadow on the floor and wooden bookshelves. Within moments the entire box was consumed, and as quickly as it had arrived, the flame disappeared.

  Genevie blew the fine blackened ash out of her palm and wiped the remaining residue onto her robes. She hurried to the chest of drawers beside the canopy bed where the princess kept all of her most private things. Mariko was very protective of the contents of these drawers, and Genevie had been given strict instructions never to go inside.

  Throwing open the first drawer, the princess’s handmaiden pushed aside garments and magical devices. Not finding what she wanted, the handmaiden continued on to the second drawer and then the third, growing more frantic as she went.

  “There must be something,” she growled.

  Completing her sweep of the dresser, Genevie returned to the door. Peeking out, she found the hallway completely clear. Closing the door, she secured the lock and turned her attention to the bookshelf. Moving aside each and every book, she continued her search.

  “You will never get away with this!” Pello shouted at King Korox and the rest of the royal court.

  Heavy iron chains draped his arms, and a magical torque adorned his neck. The opal stone at its center generated an anti-magic field, keeping the sorcerer and his spells at bay while he stood trial.

  Despite the restraint, the king had taken extra precautions. His court wizards waited on the fringes of the room, prepared to counter any magical attacks should the younger Tasca escape his bonds.

  That was the problem with sorcerers. Even unarmed, they were dangerous.

  The king stood and a tall, very fit blond man wearing a fine chain shirt with a white tabard over the top stepped out from his perch beside the throne. Two intertwined red wyverns—Korox’s personal crest—adorned the blond man’s chest. Quinn, the king’s personal bodyguard. Though he was standing on the dais, his eyes searched every dignitary in attendance.

  Turning his attention back to the bound sorcerer, the king raised himself to his full height and cleared his throat. Whitman, wearing formal courtly robes, dunked his quill in the ink vat, preparing to copy down the king’s next words.

  “You have all heard the proclamation of this court,” said the king, his personal scribe scratching his quill across a piece of heavy parchment. “You know the charges leveled against this man.”

  Taking a long moment to glance around the room, the king scanned over many people to make eye contact with an old friend, a red-headed man with three large scars across his left cheek. The man wore well-made clothing, but nothing too fancy. His royal blue and jade green crest—a simple shield covering two crossed swords—identified him as none other than Lord Purdun, the Baron of Ahlarkhem.

  Lord Purdun was Korox’s brother-in-law and one of his closest friends and allies. Purdun had fought beside him and his father, the late King Valon Morkann, when Erlkazar was still forming as a nation. Korox and Purdun had been part of a fighting regiment known as the Crusaders—the elite of the elite in the then-nascent nation of Erlkazar. They had been the driving force behind the creation of this kingdom after it had ceded from Tethyr.

  “Pello Tasca, you have been found guilty of trafficking in forbidden magic and potions.” He stepped down off the dais and moved closer to the prisoner. Quinn moved with him, keeping himself between Pello and the king.

  Korox continued on, his gaze falling upon a man in polished white plate mail, also with the king’s wyverns proudly displayed. Captain Kaden, the head of the King’s Magistrates. A muscular, sharp-eyed man, Kaden looked as if he had ancestors from beyond the Hordelands. His hair was dark and straight, and his skin had a warm healthy tone, no matter what time of year. After Quinn, Kaden was the next most trusted of the king’s inner circle.

  Beside the captain stood Senator Divian. One of the most powerful clerics in all of Erlkazar, the senator was also Korox’s most senior court advisor. She had been part of his father’s court and had graciously offered to help Korox after Valon had passed away. Many of the most important laws in Erlkazar’s books had been penned by her hand.

  Having turned nearly a full circle while taking in the room, the king’s glance came to rest on his daughter, Princess Mariko. The eye contact and the long pause had been intentional. He wanted the verdict of this trial to be felt by every single denizen of Erlkazar—the lawful and the not-so-lawful alike.

  “My stance on such crimes is no secret,” said Korox, now speaking directly to the shackled sorcerer. “As evidenced by my first act as king—the formation of the King’s Magistrates. I have tasked them first and foremost with cleaning up the filth that you and your kind peddle to our children and families.”

  To this Tasca rolled his eyes, turning his body as far from the king as he could within the limits of his restraints.

  The king narrowed his eyes. “It’s men like you who bring evil into this world. It’s men like you who burden the lives of the underprivileged. It’s men like you who destroy the dreams and ambitions of our youth by seducing them with black magic and addictions. It’s men like you who keep me up at night sharpening my sword, so that I will be ready to strike you down.” He paused, taking a breath. “Today Torm has given me the chance to remove some of the injustice from this world—and I am ready to take full advantage.”

  The king took a step back, and much of the tension left Quinn’s shoulders, and his eyes softened.

  “As the ruler of all five baronies and the kingdom of Erlkazar, I hereby sentence you, Pello Tasca, to a life of confinement in the Cellar.”

  “The … the Cellar?” Pello choked on the words, clearly aghast at the severity of the judgment.

  “So it has been spoken,” said the king, “and so it shall be carried out.”

  Pello Tasca slumped in his chair.

  The king returned to his throne and nodded at the Magistrates. “Take him away.”

  Four fully armed and armored men converged on the shackled sorcerer, lifting him from his chair and carrying him out of the court without his feet touching the ground.

  Struggling in their grip, Pello regained some of his former bravado.

  “I’ll get you for this, Korox! You’ll be dead soon, and so will the Claw!”

  The king, the princess, and Quinn all bristled at the threat.

  “This is not the end of me. Do
you hear—”

  “Silence!” shouted Lord Purdun, cutting off Tasca’s final words with the wave of his hand and the casting of a spell. The criminal was dragged through the double doors and out of the hall, the memory of his final tirade still echoing through the chamber.

  chapter four

  The moon rose high in the night sky, chasing away all but the most stalwart shadows and blanketing Erlkazar with light. The colors were muted, mostly gone, and the shapes blended into one another, making this bright night more menacing than most. Where darkness normally gave a shroud of privacy to the roads and fields, the courtyards and rooftops, now they were laid bare, exposed for anyone to see in all their naked glory.

  But it wasn’t just the places that suffered from the harsh light of the moon. Anyone who chose to traverse those places was also exposed.

  In the courtyard just outside Klarsamryn in Llorbauth, the Claw emerged from the shadows to stand in the stark light. His black cape fluttered softly in the breeze as he scanned the courtyard. This was the time of night when all good denizens of Erlkazar were asleep—all good denizens except those who protected the line between good and evil.

  Another figure emerged from the darkened edges of the stone palace, shaping herself not from the shadows but from the brightness of the moon’s own light. She crossed the courtyard to stand before the Claw, her lightness the balance to his darkness.

  “Were you followed?” asked the Claw.

  “No,” said Princess Mariko. “Were you?”

  He smiled. “Yes. Half of the underworld will be here any moment. So we must make this brief.”

  “So the Claw has a sense of humor.” The princess ran her finger down his arm, then traced the flat of his gauntlet. “Rather unexpected for a man with so many sharp edges.”

  “I have many facets. Most of them not discernible from a first glance.”

  “Tall, dark, mysterious … and amusing. What else could a woman ask for?”

  The Claw chuckled. “If only it were that easy.”

  The princess stepped closer, placing her hand on his chest. “This seems pretty easy.” She reached up and pulled back the dark mask. Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his. The Claw returned her kiss, leaning into her body.

  They stood in the moonlit courtyard for a long moment, her arms wrapped around his chest.

  Moments like this, moments where he enjoyed the simple, human pleasures and felt just like a regular citizen—felt free of obligations, free of danger, free to make choices that affected nobody but himself—were few, and they never lasted long. The obligations of being the king’s assassin always returned.

  So he learned to draw from these moments every second of enjoyment, knowing that every one could be his last.

  The princess loosened her grip and stepped back to look into his eyes. She smiled at him. It was that smile that had done him in. He couldn’t resist from the first moment he’d seen it, and he couldn’t resist now.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the Claw retrieved a thin silver necklace with a simple round locket, a pair of interlocking circles with a clasp on one side, dangling from it. The moon reflected off its polished surface, directing a ray of light, shaped like two tiny clasped hands, onto the princess’s chest.

  She gasped as she took it from his hands. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  Lifting it over her head, she let it drape from her neck. It caught the moonlight and cast it onto the Claw’s face. “I will never take it off.”

  “I hope that’s true,” he said, admiring it around her neck. “The locket holds inside it an enchantment. If you are ever in trouble, just open the clasp, and I will be able to find you—no matter where or how far away you are.”

  The princess wrinkled her nose. “How romantic,” she said, sarcasm echoing in her words.

  “It’s—”

  Mariko laughed. “I love it,” she assured him. “Besides, I’m not going to need it.” She put her hand on her hip. “I’m able to take care of myself.”

  “Of that I’m sure.” The Claw looked down. “It’s for my peace of mind.”

  The princess put her finger under his chin and lifted his face until he was looking into her eyes.

  “Then I will wear it forever and ever.” Taking his hand, Mariko turned it over so his palm faced the sky. “But you must let me do something for you—for my peace of mind.”

  Unfastening the straps along his wrist, the princess removed the gauntlet on his left hand. Placing it on the ground, she took hold of him, examining his palm. His hands were twice the size of hers.

  The Claw looked down on her, watching as she ran her fingers over his, her smooth skin caressing the calluses and bruises. He took a deep breath and let the moment wash over him.

  The princess traced a figure on his palm, making the same lines over and over again. As she did, she spoke a few soft words, and the shape on his palm lit up brightly.

  He recognized the symbol she had drawn. Her personal rune.

  The Claw pulled away. “Did you just brand me?” he asked, rather incredulous.

  “Of course,” she said, hardly able to contain her laughter. “I do this to all my men.”

  “Very funny.” The Claw shook his hand, hoping it was an illusion. But the light remained.

  The princess gave him a fake scowl. “Hold still. I’m not finished yet.”

  Pulling him forward, she took another firm grip on his hand. Waving her palm over his, she spoke words that made no sense to him. When she finished, the light went out.

  The Claw examined his hand. It looked the same as it always had. “What … what did you do?”

  “Repeat after me,” she said. “As you wish, Princess Mariko.”

  The Claw tilted his head. “As you wish, Princess Mariko.”

  The rune on his palm came back to life, glowing like a mage-lit stone.

  “Now close your palm.”

  The Claw did as he was told, and the light extinguished itself.

  “Now you’ll never get lost on your way home in the darkness,” she said.

  “As you wish, Princess Mariko.” His palm illuminated again. “I’ll be …” he said, impressed by the usefulness of such a gift. “I’m touched.” He closed his palm and picked up his gauntlet.

  “I’m sure a man in your position will find it … helpful.” She reached up and gave him another quick kiss. “I must be off now. I have much work to do.”

  “Yes,” said the Claw. “As do I.”

  “Same time tomorrow night?”

  The Claw nodded. “Same time.”

  Princess Mariko turned and disappeared into the darkness, her form of light dismantling as it slipped off into the shadows.

  The Claw smiled as he watched her go. After taking one last look at his palm, he too turned and headed off into the night, toward the seedy darkness of Erlkazar’s underworld.

  In the corner of the courtyard, where the shadows from two intersecting walls overlapped in complete darkness, a figure watched. Mariko had tried very hard not to be followed, doubling back more than once, traveling in the shadows, and checking her tracks.

  But the figure was good at watching her. He knew her patterns and where she would look for trackers. The figure knew how to observe her without being observed. He knew that she frequently left the royal palace late at night. He knew that she would often be out until just before sunrise. What he didn’t know was where she went or with whom she met.

  That was why he had followed her here, to the northernmost courtyard outside the palace.

  The princess crossed the open space, stopping halfway across to speak with someone. From the darkened corner, the concealing walls blocked part of the figure’s view. He could not see who Mariko had met here in the middle of the night. The moon was high and bright, leaving very little room to move without being revealed. So the figure waited.

  He watched her cast a spell on something, then she leaned back,
pulling another person’s hand—a man’s hand—into view. She cast another spell, then, after some further conversation, she leaned up to give the man a kiss.

  Knowing what was at risk, the figure leaned away from the wall, craning his neck to get a better view. Had the princess turned at that moment, she would have seen the figure’s dark hood, lit by the moon’s rays, would have seen the smooth, pale skin of the figure’s forehead illuminated by the unusually bright night.

  But the princess did not turn, and the figure pressed himself back against the concealing wall.

  “The princess and the Claw,” the figure whispered. “This is bigger than I had thought.”

  The princess turned away from her evening rendezvous and returned to the shadows on the eastern edge of the courtyard.

  Just as he had before, the figure slunk away, following the princess into the shadows.

  From the rooftop, a man in a cape and wide-brimmed hat watched the princess and the Claw being watched by a figure in the shadows. It was not easy to see the figure, for it had taken great care to conceal itself in the darkest part of the courtyard. But the man in the hat had followed the figure here just as it had followed the princess.

  High above all the action, the man chuckled quietly. This was a strange turn of events. Never would he have thought he’d find the Claw as part of this. He suspected the figure had been equally surprised to learn of the princess’s relationship with the king’s assassin. Who would have thought it? The kingdom’s most beloved royal paired with the kingdom’s most-rumored and least-understood figure. Maybe there was something to this tall, dark, and handsome bit after all.

  This night might turn out to be much more interesting than he had thought.

  The rendezvous below broke up, and the princess disappeared back into the shadows.

  “Go on,” he said, talking to the figure, though he knew it couldn’t hear. “Follow her.”

  Predictably, his quarry did, skirting the edge of the high wall, following the shadows to the edge of the courtyard and out of sight.

  “Time to go.” Getting up from his perch, the man in the hat crossed the rooftop to stand at the edge of the building.