Obsidian Ridge

by Jess Lebow

  The winter weather in Erlkazar was mild by most standards. The warm water coming off the Deepwash kept the air from getting too cold, which meant there was rarely any snow, except in the high mountains to the west. All in all, Llorbauth wasn’t a bad place to be during the cold months of the year. But though it was nice in the winter, it was always quite dark. The end of winter meant the return of the daylight. Spring was here now, and the beautiful summer would follow shortly.

  Usually, the sweet air and the beautiful weather at the beginning of spring filled Korox with a sense of peace. Today, it just made him sad. He wondered if this was the last time he would watch his home unfold from its winter slumber, and if his daughter had missed it.

  “My lord?” Kaden’s voice brought the king out of his daze.

  “Hmm?”

  “I said, ‘I’m ready when you are,’ ” repeated Kaden.

  The king turned away from the weapon rack to see Kaden in the middle of the practice field, a pike held in his hands.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” Korox realized he’d already picked up a pike of his own.

  “Are you well, my lord?” asked the captain. “Forgive me for saying, but you seem … well, less focused than usual.”

  The king nodded. “Yes, that is probably true.” He rested both hands on the shaft of his pike. “I have dealt with many things as the King of Erlkazar. There have been many difficult decisions to make. But none has been more maddening than being asked to choose between the life of my daughter and the safety of my kingdom.” He stood up straight as he steeled himself, trying to find the strength to turn his thoughts into words. “No father should ever be asked to make that choice.”

  Korox stood silent for a moment, contemplating the unthinkable. “I want nothing more in this world than to find Mariko and bring her home safely.” He shook his head. “But if we do find her. If we rescue my daughter from whatever fate has befallen her, then I will have to make that choice.”

  “My lord, uh …”

  The king shook him off. “I know, Kaden. It must not be easy for you either. It is unfair of me to burden you with these things.” He took a wide stance and lowered his pike. “We came out here to get a brief respite from this topic.” The king lunged, pulling up short. “Defend yourself.”

  Kaden bowed his head and took up his pike.

  No sooner had the two men traded blows, their weapons clanging loudly from the impact, than their sparring was interrupted by a pair of Magistrates.

  “King Korox! King Korox!” The men hurried into the practice yard, a badly wounded man strung between them.

  “Dear Bane! It’s Whitman.”

  The king dropped his pike and rushed to meet the men carrying his personal scribe. “Put him down over here.” Korox directed them to a small patch of grass growing beside one of the barracks.

  The Magistrates did as they were told, lowering the wounded scribe onto the ground as gently as they could.

  “What happened?” asked Korox, bending down and examining Whitman.

  “We found him on the road early this morning,” said one of the Magistrates. “Looks like someone dumped him. He was unconscious, clutching this in his hand.”

  The soldier produced a crinkled piece of vellum.

  Korox took it from him. The letters scrawled across it were written in blood. It said simply:

  If you want our help, give us the Claw.

  The king handed the note over his shoulder to Captain Kaden.

  “Why do they think we’d want their help?” asked Kaden. “Are they volunteering to stop producing the Elixir? What makes them think you’d turn over the Claw?”

  The king turned to the captain, annoyed. “Captain, I’m just as much in the dark as you.” He looked up at the other two Magistrates. “Get me a healing potion, and notify Senator Divian that I will need her or one of her clerics as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the soldiers in unison.

  One man dashed off down the road toward the palace. The other entered a nearby barracks and came quickly back—a vial of healing potion in his fist.

  “Let us hope he’s got some more answers for us,” said the king. “Help me sit him up.”

  Captain Kaden lifted Whitman by his shoulders until he was upright.

  “Gently now. Just enough so he can drink.” The king uncorked the vial and poured the liquid into the scribe’s mouth.

  Whitman choked on the thick potion at first, but it didn’t take much coaxing to get him to swallow the rest of the healing magic.

  The partially dried scabs on the beaten man’s face faded, and he gagged a bit as he sputtered back to consciousness.

  “No! No! Please stop!” Whitman flailed on the ground, startled, then he calmed himself as he seemed to find recognition in the faces of the king and Captain Kaden.

  “What …? Where …?”

  “Whitman, you’re safe now.”

  The scribe let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the gods. Each and every one of them.”

  Captain Kaden laid Whitman back down on the grass, letting him recline.

  “What happened?” demanded the king. “Who did this to you?”

  “The—the Matron.” He coughed hard between the words, spitting up phlegm laced with blood. “They took me from—from my bed. Her henchmen—they beat me.”

  “They took you from your bed? They abducted you from inside the palace? How could that happen?” Korox looked back at Kaden.

  The captain shrugged. “We’ve tripled the patrols, and all the entrances are warded against intrusion.”

  Whitman nodded. “I don’t know how—how they got in. The last thing I remember was being awakened from sleep. There were four men. They held me down. I was gagged and taken from the palace, down to the docks. They took me into a dark room. And they—they beat me. Told me to deliver a message to you.”

  The king handed his scribe the piece of vellum. “You mean this?”

  Whitman looked at the scribbled words. “Yes—” His coughing fit this time was much longer, and he nearly choked.

  The king and Captain Kaden tried to lift him back to sitting, but he waved them off, regaining his composure. “There’s more.”

  “More?” said Kaden. “Did they tell you where the princess is?”

  “No. But they do have her.” Whitman felt his bruised face, poking at his mostly closed-over right eye. “The Matron told me to tell the king that if he turns the Claw over to her, not only will Princess Mariko be returned, but the underworld will also summon all of its mages to help the king fight the Obsidian Ridge.” He looked up at King Korox with his one good eye. “She said if you give her the Claw, then you will have your daughter and an alliance that will give you all the mages you need to fight Arch Magus Xeries.”

  Korox flinched and pulled away from Whitman. “So she knows of our plan to fight Xeries. How could she know about the convocation of mages?”

  Whitman looked to the ground and shook his head. “I do not know. But she knew, and she wanted you to know that. That’s why I was beaten.” The scribe began to sob.

  The king put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He felt a pang of guilt. For Korox, this was the worst part of being the king—knowing that sometimes other people were hurt on his behalf.

  “She’s got Mariko.” The king closed his eyes and shook his head. He hadn’t thought it could get any worse. But it had. He turned to Kaden. “If the Matron can abduct a member of my court from his bed and knows of plans we’ve only just talked about, then surely she has more reach into the palace than we had thought.”

  Korox tried to wrap his brain around Whitman’s story. The pieces just didn’t add up. If four men could get into and out of the palace without getting spotted, then why didn’t they just come for him? If the Matron had that much reach, then why abduct a junior member of the court? Only then to return the man a some time later, beaten to a pulp, with a ransom note and an offering to help?

  “Does she want to scare me?
” The king was thinking out loud. “Let me know she can get to me anytime she wants? If that’s the case, then why offer an alliance?”

  And how could she know about his plans to fight Xeries? Outside of himself, only Kaden, Quinn, and Senator Divian were aware of his thinking on the matter. The idea was Divian’s, and he’d known her too long to think she was the one who would jeopardize the plan by revealing it to the underworld. Kaden and Quinn were the two men the king most trusted, leaving his own life in their hands on a daily basis. If either one of them turned out to be a spy for the underworld, then everyone in the entire palace was suspect. Was there no one he could trust?

  Then it hit him. There was someone else who knew of that conversation, someone else who could have told the Matron their plans.

  That someone was Whitman.

  The king looked to the Magistrate who had brought him the healing potion. “Soldier, I want you to go to the front gate of the palace. Ask the guard there for an accounting of all persons who entered or left the palace last night and early this morning.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the Magistrate, and he hurried off.

  The king nodded to two other soldiers. “You two, take hold of this man.”

  Without hesitation the Magistrates grabbed hold of Whitman, pinning him down.

  “What … what are you—?” stuttered the scribe.

  Korox stood in front of Whitman, his shadow looming large over the prone man. “Anything you want to tell me before that solider returns?”

  Whitman’s eyes grew wide. “My lord, what … whatever do you mean?”

  Korox could feel his anger rising. “Don’t play me for the fool, Whitman.”

  “My lord, I would never—”

  “When that Magistrate returns,” continued the king, “I suspect he’s going to have an accounting of you leaving the palace last night—not gagged and carried by four men, but under your own power.”

  Whitman looked up at the king, swallowing hard.

  Korox reached for the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t there, and he realized he’d taken it out while he was sparring with Kaden.

  “If you’re lying to me, Whitman,” he growled, “if you’re helping the underworld in any part of this, so help me, I’ll beat you with my bare hands.”

  The doors on all the barracks burst open, and Magistrates poured out. Apparently alarmed by the sound of the king’s raised voice, they arrived in various states of dress, all of them carrying weapons.

  Seeing nearly a unit of the King’s Magistrates appear as if from nowhere must have scared the scribe, because his eyes grew wide and he started to thrash around—a desperate, guilty man making one last attempt at freedom.

  Korox leaned over, his face nearly touching Whitman’s, his fists already in balls. “Did you tell the Matron about the mages’ convocation?”

  The beaten man burst into tears, and he curled up into a ball, defending himself against a coming blow. “It was me. Please don’t hurt me. I can’t take anymore. I admit it. I told the Matron about the plans to defeat Xeries. I’ve been working with her all along. Please. Please. Just don’t hurt me.”

  King Korox Morkann spun around with his right fist, catching the scribe squarely on the jaw, knocking a pair of teeth out of the man’s mouth with his powerful blow.

  “Where—”

  He swung again, his massive frame blocking out the morning sun, and burying Whitman in the king’s shadow. The scribe’s head flopped around on his neck like the chained ball of a flail.

  “Is—”

  Another blow.

  “My—”

  And then a fourth.

  “Daughter!”

  With this final impact, Whitman’s body began to convulse. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth. His eyes rolled around in his head, hardly able to focus.

  Korox wound up for another strike, but Captain Kaden caught his arm.

  “My lord!” pleaded the leader of the Magistrates. “Let him speak.”

  Whitman could hardly move his lips, so badly beaten was he. Drooling blood and mucus, his eyes now both swollen shut, the scribe ran his hand across his mouth, clearing out another broken tooth.

  “She’s … she’s in the Cellar.”

  King Korox’s heart froze, and his stomach knotted. “The Cellar.”

  Without a word, he turned and headed back to the palace.

  “My lord!” shouted Captain Kaden. “What do you want us to do with Whitman?”

  The king waved his hand over his shoulder, not looking back. “Take him to the dungeon. I’m not through with him yet.”

  chapter fifteen

  The king stormed into the audience chamber, his clothes still damp with sweat from sparring. A court clerk approached him as he made his way around the curved outer wall.

  “King Korox, if I could just get a moment—”

  The king waved him off. “No,” he boomed.

  The clerk bowed once then disappeared behind a column.

  Reaching the far side and the statue of Ondeth Obarskyr, Korox pushed open the door to his private reading room. Though it was early morning, the room was still quite dark. The sun coming in from the high windows cast long shadows across the opposite wall. The reflection lit the chamber well enough that the king could see all the obstacles in his way.

  Crossing to the far edge, the king looked into the darkened corner.

  “Where is he?” he said under his breath.

  “I am here, my king.”

  Behind him, the Claw had materialized. It had always been disconcerting to Korox that the Claw seemingly appeared out of thin air, but now was not the time to discuss this little pet peeve.

  “So, I don’t need to tell you about the Matron’s demand.”

  “No, you do not.”

  “And you are aware of the princess’s predicament?”

  The Claw nodded.

  “We can speak freely here, away from other ears. What am I to do?”

  The Claw took a deep breath, pausing—a very uncharacteristic moment of hesitation.

  “This is not the time to withhold your thoughts,” said the king. “I need your unfiltered council, so that I can make a quick decision about both the Matron and my daughter.”

  The Claw bowed his head. “My lord, there is something I must tell you.…” Another moment of hesitation.

  “Out with it, man,” demanded the king. “Mariko is in the Cellar. For all we know she may already be dead, but if she is not—and I pray for the sake of Erlkazar she is still unharmed—then I need to move fast.”

  “I’ll get her,” volunteered the Claw.

  The king nodded. “I thought you might. But then what do I do about the Matron?”

  “My lord, I am your loyal servant. If you were to ask me to descend to the deepest levels of Hell and return with a devil in tow, I would do it without question. There is nothing too grand or too small, nothing I would withhold from you. But I cannot turn myself over to the Matron. Not now.”

  The king was puzzled. “Not now?”

  “Because I am in love with your daughter, and I must get her back.”

  The king lowered his head. “I know.”

  It was the Claw’s turn to be puzzled. “You know?”

  “Mariko is not the only spy at my disposal.”

  “I see.” The Claw stared at the ground, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking rather uncomfortable.

  “We do not have the time to have the conversation about what it means to court my daughter,” said the king. “But I hope we will in the near future.” He put his hand on the Claw’s shoulder. “For now, let’s just get her back.”

  The Claw nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  The king crossed the room and slid open the drawer on a desk in the corner. Reaching inside, he retrieved a small box, a magic sigil inscribed on its surface. Placing his hand on top, he spoke the princess’s name. “Mariko Morkann,” and the lid to the box sprang open.

  “This”—he lifted a small, fl
at disk, about twice the size of a typical gold coin, from the box; brightly colored triangles radiated out from the center, making it look like a child’s toy—“is a portal that will take you to the Cellar. You will be able to activate it a second time to get back out, once you have found Mariko. But be careful when you use it. It can only be used once to get in and once to get out. It will not last very long. If you activate it and do not use it, you will be lost, trapped inside the Cellar.” He offered it to the masked man.

  The Claw took it. “I understand.”

  The king grabbed his assassin by the arm. “I have trusted you with the most important matters of my reign. Now I must trust you with my daughter’s life. Please, don’t let me lose her.”

  The Claw bowed. “I will get her back. I give you my word.”

  “I know you will,” said the king, his heart heavy for the news he still had to deliver. “But son, I’m afraid that”—he pointed to the magical portal disk—“is all the help I can give you. If you fail, I will have no choice but to turn you over to the underworld.”

  The Claw nodded his understanding.

  “There is still the matter of the Obsidian Ridge, and I have a responsibility to this kingdom.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I can give you enough time to leave the palace—to get to the Cellar. But then I must give the Magistrates the order.”

  “The order?”

  “Yes.” The king steeled himself. “I will tell the Matron that she has a deal. That I will turn you over to her as soon as I can hunt you down. If she has as much reach into the palace as I suspect, then she will know if I’m telling her the truth. So I will send the Magistrates out, looking for you. You will be a hunted man, but if you are quick, you will be out of this realm and inside the Cellar before I give the command.”

  “I do not understand,” said the Claw. “Why accept the deal if I can get the princess back?”

  “Because I do not trust the Matron, but I have no choice but to accept her offer for help. While you are searching for Mariko, I can be putting together plans to fight Xeries—with the help of the underworld. If all goes well, you will retrieve my daughter while we fight off the Obsidian Ridge.”