Obsidian Ridge

by Jess Lebow

  She looked around. “What is it you plan to do when all of this is gone? What is it you will do when the Magistrates and the Claw have torn down the docks and made it impossible for any of us to do business?”

  “That will never happen,” said the spider woman.

  “Yes, it will,” replied the Matron. “And it will happen sooner than you think. That is why we must stay the course. We must use the arrival of the Obsidian Ridge to our advantage. We can form an alliance with the king, put him in our pocket, make him a partner to our crimes.”

  She smiled. “Then for as long as he lives, we will have free reign of Erlkazar. We will control the laws and the tariffs and the distribution of wealth. We will have everything we have ever wanted.”

  The Matron leaned on the table, her voice growing serious. “We can give the king everything he wants, and he is willing to give that to us as well. But not if we turn his daughter over. Not if we do not ally with him and bring our mages to his convocation. If we give up now, if we simply turn the princess over to this Xeries, then we have gained nothing.”

  The heavy steel doors complained as they opened.

  The Matron was already in a foul mood, and this unexpected interruption was not helping.

  Into the chamber came one of Jallal Tasca’s guards, escorted by four of the Matron’s own armed soldiers. The woman looked as if she’d just been dragged through a bonfire. Dozens of tiny burn marks covered her clothing, and ash and blood smeared her face.

  She bowed as she entered, staying on the top step.

  “Matron, please forgive the intrusion, but I have grave news.”

  “You may speak.”

  “It’s the Claw, Matron. He’s killed the Tascas and liberated Princess Mariko from the Cellar.”

  The room exploded in hushed mutterings and angry accusations.

  “You see!” shouted Kleegor. “You were playing with fire, and now we are all going to burn.”

  “Choose carefully your words here, Kleegor,” warned the Matron.

  The half-orc stood to address the room. “We do not have the princess. The decision to turn her over is no longer in our hands.” He turned to the Matron. “You want to rule Erlkazar? You had your chance to save the kingdom. You had the chance to make the choice. The king was powerless. But now you have wasted the opportunity trying to turn it into more than it was. The king will never turn over his daughter. He knows we have the power to help him stop Xeries, and he’ll assume that we’ll use it to help ourselves. We no longer have a choice.”

  “What do you propose we do?” asked the spider woman.

  “There is only one clear path,” said Kleegor. “We must kill the king and force the palace to turn over the princess.”

  “Idiot,” the Matron fumed underneath her veil. “If and when we kill the king, it will be when I tell you to kill the king. If this is done wrong, all of Erlkazar will be up in arms against us or worse, in ashes. The king will become a martyr, and we will continue to be hunted by Xeries’s beasts. Our businesses have thrived for hundreds of years by being inconspicuous. If Erlkazar is destroyed, we have nothing.”

  “You should have thought of that before you started this game,” said Kleegor.

  The Matron lifted her hand and pointed at Kleegor. An army of guards rushed into the meeting room from the open steel doors. Four of them grabbed hold of the half-orc, while two others pressed sharpened steel against his back.

  “Stop!” shouted Kleegor. “What are you doing? You can’t do this!”

  The guards held firm, and no one in the room moved to help him.

  “I warned you.” The Matron stepped out from the table and made her way to the half-orc. “But you did not listen.” She placed her hand on Kleegor’s chest. “And now your poison words will be your undoing.”

  Her hand flared with power, and the half-orc doubled over in pain. His arms went weak, his face pale, and he vomited on the table, the contents of his stomach spilling over everyone within two chairs. No longer able to struggle against the guards, they held him up, keeping the half-orc from falling to the ground.

  “What have you done to him?” asked the woman in the spider-silk dress, her words whispered and horrified.

  “I have simply given him a taste of his own poison.” Returning to the head of the table, she nodded to the guards.

  They placed the sickened Kleegor back in his seat, resting his head in the puddle of vomit.

  “The Claw will return the princess to her father,” said the Matron, addressing the collected underworld bosses. “We must make sure the king doesn’t do anything foolish. I will send him a message, reiterating our deal to help him combat Xeries. If he thinks there is a chance that he can keep his daughter, he will take it, and he will still be in our debt.”

  “And what of the Claw?” shouted a man in garish robes at the far end.

  “The Claw is a different story,” she said, her veil fluttering with the force of her words. “He must die.”

  King Korox stood in the middle of the great hall, piles of dead soldiers and beasts littering the floor.

  “Do you see this?” He pointed to the blood and the ruined lives. “Are you looking?”

  Whitman stood before him, his hands and legs in heavy shackles. Bruises and dried cuts covered his face. He didn’t look at the king. He didn’t look at the mess around him. He just stared at his bare feet.

  Korox grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him over to the corpse of a young solider.

  “Do you see that?” He shoved Whitman to the ground, forcing his face over the dead solider. “He was still a boy, less than half your age.”

  Korox dragged Whitman, still on his knees, to look at a slain Watcher. “How about her? Was your treachery worth her life?”

  Whitman said nothing.

  “I’m going to ask you this once, and you’re going to answer me, or so help me I will cut you down right here and hang your dead body from the front of the palace.” The king placed his sword under Whitman’s neck. “What is it the Matron wants? What is all of this about?”

  Whitman looked down at the king’s sword, piercing the skin on his throat. He swallowed hard. “She wants you in her debt.” He lowered his eyes. “She thought that if she took your daughter, that you would be willing to turn a blind eye to her Elixir business in exchange for Mariko’s safe return.”

  “And the Obsidian Ridge?” prompted the king.

  “She had nothing to do with that. When it arrived, she was as surprised as you. But she saw it as a further opportunity to draw you into her plans.”

  The king pulled his sword away from Whitman’s throat. “She offered to help with the convocation as a way to get influence in the court.”

  Whitman sat back on his heels, a completely beaten man. “And her chance to take from you a powerful weapon.”

  “The Claw,” said the king.

  Whitman nodded.

  “Who is she?”

  Whitman looked puzzled. “Who?”

  “Yes,” said the king, raising his blade again. “What is her name? Tell me her identity.”

  Whitman shook his head. “I do not know.”

  Korox dropped his knee down on the ex-scribe’s chest, lowering his entire weight—full armor and all—onto the man. “I will ask you this only one more time. What is her name?”

  Whitman struggled to keep himself upright, his back straining under the extra weight, threatening to break. “I swear to you. I do not know. She keeps her face covered, her identity a secret.”

  The king stood. “Take him back to the dungeon,” he ordered a nearby Magistrate.

  Whitman fell over sideways, a gushing sob ushering from his lips as he was dragged out of the room.

  Korox watched the man he had once trusted with all of his words disappear from the great hall in shackles. His reign as king was in danger of being characterized simply by the string of betrayals from his advisors and servants.

  “Father!”

  Korox tu
rned away from Whitman to see his daughter standing at the door to the audience chamber. “Mariko?” He rushed to her side and wrapped her in an embrace. “I wasn’t sure I was going to ever lay eyes upon you again.”

  She smiled at him. “There were some moments there where I thought the same thing.” The princess traced the path of bodies across the floor with her eyes. “What happened here?”

  “Erlkazar is in grave danger,” he said. “We’re at war.”

  “Quinn mentioned that.”

  Behind her, the Claw entered the great hall, his mask missing.

  The king glanced to his assassin, then to his daughter. “Then I guess you’ve heard about Arch Magus Xeries and his demands.”

  The princess nodded. “Yes.” She looked up at him with her chin pointed to the ground. If she had been wearing spectacles, she would have been staring over the tops of the rims.

  The king had seen that look before. Her mother used to give it to him on a regular basis. “Mariko, you can’t believe that I want to turn you over to that man. That has never been my intention.”

  “I’m sure you will do what is best for the kingdom,” she replied, not changing the look.

  “I’m glad someone thinks so.” King Korox Morkann took another look at his daughter. It seemed he hadn’t seen her for ages. Indeed, whatever she had been through had made her look older, wiser—a lot like her mother in fact.

  “Let me tell you what has happened while you were away.” He touched Mariko’s elbow and gently directed her down the hall. “Perhaps you will have a clearer view of what our best course of action may be.”

  She looked like her mother, had the same stern look as her mother, maybe she’d have sage advice, like her mother always had.

  chapter twenty-seven

  The sun rose on a new day in Erlkazar. A westerly wind blew in from the water, lifting the morning fog and gently rustling the grass and leaves. At any other time, this would have been a beautiful spring day. Visitors from other lands would have seen children playing in the foothills, farmers coaxing their crops from the soil, and a community of people who worked and lived together in harmony.

  But not today.

  On this day, the sun’s rays were somehow absorbed by the empty, hopeless blackness that was the Obsidian Ridge. The children, those who hadn’t been evacuated, were locked tightly inside their homes, cowering behind barred doors with their huddled families. The roads were all but bare, occupied by only the bravest and the most foolhardy. And the wind had nothing to rustle.

  The first rays of dawn had brought with them what seemed a plague. The crops, once sprouting with the hope of a fine harvest were turned gray and lifeless. Their budding blossoms had withered and died. The first signs of flowers and fruit had decayed on the vine, transforming into little more than dried out husks.

  Xeries had done what he’d promised.

  “This is an outrage,” fumed Lady Herrin, stomping right into the audience chamber. “You are our king, and it is your obligation to protect us from this threat.”

  “I am aware of my duty, Lady Herrin.”

  Korox stood on the dais. His throne had been destroyed in the melee that took place only a day before. Blood stained the floor of the chamber, and scars from the battle marred the pillars.

  The king looked up at the painting on the ceiling. It depicted a time in his nation’s history, only a few short years ago, known as the Black Days of Eleint. What would these days be called, he wondered, if not black?

  “The crops have withered,” said the old merchant woman. “Our livelihoods are at stake. Our lives are in your hands, yet you stand there and do nothing.”

  “You have seen the power of Xeries. Our army cannot best him, and we do not have the resources to beat him in a magical fight. We are looking into solutions.”

  “Give him what he wants,” she said. “Turn over your daughter for the sake of the kingdom, and be done with it.”

  Korox paced across the dais. Inside he fumed, his frustration boiling over into a massive hatred of the woman before him. Right now, she was all that was wrong with the world. He wanted to smite her, cut her down for demanding such things from him.

  “You know not what you ask of me,” he said.

  “I know very well,” said the old merchant. “You can save the lives of thousands by sacrificing only one. That is a good pay off. Even someone as poor with economics as you can understand those numbers.”

  The king reached for his sword, but his hand was stayed by that of Senator Divian.

  She smiled at him, and gently directed him toward his private reading room. “That is quite enough Lady Herrin,” she said to the merchant. “Your request has been heard, and the king will take it under advisement. You will be contacted if your advice is needed further.”

  “But what about—”

  Divian cut her off. “Good day, Lady Herrin.”

  The senator escorted the king out of the audience chamber.

  The door shut behind them, and Divian raised her hand, illuminating the room with her magic. The king walked silently to a heavy chair and sat. He could feel the skin on his face drooping from lack of sleep. He could hear the arguments for each of the decisions ahead of him running over and over again inside his head.

  He let out a sigh and placed his face in his hands. “Divian, what would you do?”

  The senator stood beside his chair and touched his arm. “I can not tell you what I would do. I am not the king. Mariko is not my daughter.”

  The king nodded, rubbing his face.

  The senator smiled. “What I can tell you is what I think you, the rightful King of Erlkazar, should do.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You are human, Korox. Your daughter is all you have left of your family. She is the end of your bloodline, and the heir to your kingdom. It is only natural for you to want to save her.”

  “But what if there isn’t any kingdom for her to inherit?”

  “That’s where it gets tougher. Ask yourself, if what you want is to tell Xeries he cannot have your daughter, then how will you protect her? What is your next course of action?”

  “There is little else I can do. The army cannot fight him, and I fear the Matron’s offer of help with the convocation cannot be trusted. It does not seem wise to risk the fate of the kingdom on the promises of a woman who kidnapped my daughter and wants to use me as her pawn.”

  “That seems like a wise assessment,” she agreed.

  “If I send Mariko away, ask her to run for her life, I will be dooming the rest of the kingdom.”

  “It sounds as if you have already made up your mind.”

  He stood up and took Divian into his arms. “I’m afraid I have. I was just hoping for a miracle, I guess, before it came to this.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Quinn couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I have agonized over this decision, Quinn. I have weighed every option. I have tried everything within my power. Where I was unable to save Llorbauth, Mariko can.” The king let out a resigned sigh. “I have no other choice.”

  Quinn felt his heart racing in his chest. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Soon. She will have until the morning to make her peace with it.” Korox looked at his trusted bodyguard, sadness in his eyes. “As will you.”

  Quinn took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and get his head around what he had just heard. “If this is your decision, then I want to tell her, and I want to be the one to take her there.”

  The king straightened, looking at Quinn with all seriousness. “You do not have to do this.”

  “I know.”

  “And you also know what that means?”

  “I would rather be with her than make her go alone,” Quinn said. “She should have someone, perhaps several someones, with her.”

  The king sat quietly for a moment, considering his assassin’s request, a dour look on his face. “Very well,” he said. “Make sure she understands
that this was your request, not mine. I do not want her to leave this place thinking that her father was too much of a coward to deliver the news to her in person.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Quinn bowed. “You have my word.”

  “She’s going to be angry.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s going to argue.”

  Quinn nodded. “It wouldn’t be like her not to.”

  “Good luck, son.”

  “Thank you, my king.”

  “So he sent you to do his dirty work, then?” Mariko waved her hand and the entire table of books blew over, slamming to the floor, some against the wall.

  “No,” replied Quinn. “I asked him if I could be the one to tell you.”

  “Still protecting him, huh? I guess I know where your loyalty lies.”

  “That’s not fair, Mariko. It was very difficult for him to allow me this. He wanted to tell you himself, but I convinced him to let me do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going with you. I’m not letting you leave here alone.”

  Quinn tried to take her hand, but she was too angry, and she pulled it away.

  “You listened to him yourself,” said Quinn. “There is little other choice.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  “There is,” said Quinn. “But it requires that many, many people die in our place.”

  Mariko stood at the window to her chamber, looking out onto the southern plain below Klarsamryn. “I know,” she said after a long silence. “But I’m just not done here yet.” She sobbed.

  Quinn came up behind and put his arms around her. This time she did not pull away.

  chapter twenty-eight

  Mariko please,” pleaded the king. “Won’t you even look at me?”

  The princess sat atop her horse, her eyes averted. “I will do what you ask. I will uphold my duty to Erlkazar as the heir to the throne.” She softly spurred her mount forward. “But that is all.”