by Jess Lebow
It did not bother Quinn that he was being led to an ambush. He was ready to finish this and get to the real business at hand. Let them come after him. Let them try to corner him. Let them throw a hundred of their best at him.
He would take them all.
Up ahead, pulses of bright orange light came into the passage. The closer they got to it, the more the walls hummed and vibrated. He could feel the bones inside his skin rattle. Ever since arriving, Quinn had noticed the slight vibration in the floors and walls. Where he stood now, the shaking was not slight.
Whatever it was that moved this place, made it vibrate so, was waiting right up ahead.
The creatures stopped at the edge of the passage and looked back, as if they were waiting for Quinn to catch up, then they stepped through, toward the orange light, and disappeared from view.
Making his way cautiously to the end of the tube, Quinn peered out into the chamber beyond. It was a huge, open area, at least as large as Xeries’s throne room. In the center, three man-sized rubies hovered in midair. Jagged bolts of magical energy pulsed through them, bouncing back and forth between pedestals on the ground and what looked like a series of magical staves attached to the ceiling.
Each time a pulse of magic passed through a ruby, it sent out a glare of orange light that shone from the reflective, chipped surfaces all around the room. The gemstones moved quickly back and forth, seeming to hum a deep tune. All three had hit the same note, and it was this sound that was making the entire citadel vibrate.
On the floor at the base of one of the rubies, Quinn caught sight of the assassins he had been stalking. They had stopped, all four of them, to look in his direction, once again as if they were waiting for him to follow.
Quinn obliged, slipping out of the tube and into the open chamber.
The room was quite warm, and he could feel the vibrations chatter through his ribcage and shake his chest. It was a strange sensation, the beats of his heart moving at odds with the vibrations of the gemstones.
Once he was out of the tube, Xeries’s assassins continued on, passing around the floating rubies and steering clear of the magical bolts of energy emanating from them. At the other side of the room, the creatures began to climb the wall, slipping into another passage near the ceiling.
Quinn followed, not sure where all of this was taking him. Scaling the wall with ease, he continued on, deep into another passage—this one headed straight up toward the top of the Obsidian Ridge.
chapter thirty-three
Korox sat in the saddle of his night-black war steed in the easternmost courtyard, looking at the dead, wilted cherry blossoms. It was the beginning of spring, and the warmth had just returned to Llorbauth. The flowers and trees had just starting to bloom—but they were never given a chance.
The shrubs, grass, and trees had all curled up and died. The water had dried up. The dirt had turned to sand, and the sun beat down on the city as if it were a desert, desolate and wasted.
All of this had gone terribly, terribly wrong. The land as far as the eye could see was wilted and withered, and a new army of Xeries’s beasts had mustered under the Obsidian Ridge. More poured out of the sides of the floating mountain every moment, and that could mean only one thing—Quinn and Mariko had failed, and Llorbauth was about to be attacked by the arch magus’s forces.
Korox tried to tell himself that Xeries would have dried up the water, withered the crops, and taken his kingdom even if Mariko had been turned over without incident. But even if that were true, it didn’t make him feel any better.
“Can you ever really trust a man who makes his home inside a burnt-out volcano?” he said to Captain Kaden.
“No, my lord, you cannot,” replied the head of the Magistrates.
The king had ordered all of his remaining troops to muster in front of Klarsamryn. If Xeries’s beasts were going to attack, then by Helm, Llorbauth was going to defend itself. While the regular army, Watchers, and Magistrates were preparing for battle, Korox had decided to ride through the courtyard one last time. Captain Kaden had insisted on coming along, and the king had agreed, if only for the company.
King Korox stepped down from his horse and crouched near the ground at the base of the queen’s statue, touching the dried, brown grass. Brittle and stiff, it crumbled in his hand. He remembered taking walks here with his wife, when she was still alive. It had been the perfect place for a bit of privacy. The smell of the cherry blossoms made even the largest problems seem insignificant.
All of that was gone now.
Erlkazar was less than two decades old. He’d been its king for less than a year, and already it was on the brink of destruction.
“My lord,” said Captain Kaden, “we should return.”
King Korox nodded. “I know, Kaden. I just wanted to see this place again. Over the past year I have spent too much time inside my audience chamber and not enough out here.” He looked up at the carving of his deceased wife. “I fear I have missed out on what may have been the last days of spring in Erlkazar.”
With one final look he turned and led his steed back toward the front of Klarsamryn. His Magistrate escorts marched along side as they moved slowly from the courtyard, past the empty diplomatic buildings and into the field beyond. It too was brown and dry, like all the other places in the kingdom.
It was not far to the drawbridge, but from here, even the dead leaves on the trees obscured their view of the mustering troops. To the north, they could see the huge squirming mass of Xeries’s army gathered under the floating mountain.
The flow of beasts out of the citadel had stopped. Their shimmering blackness seemed a giant bottomless pit in the middle of the world. There was no end to what could be consumed by the collected evil under the Obsidian Ridge.
“They will be coming this way soon,” said the king. “Our final test is upon us.”
“You will not be tested,” said a deep voice.
The Magistrates accompanying the king pulled their swords.
“You will not be tested,” repeated the voice, “because you have already failed.”
Suddenly the field outside the courtyard, still except for the occasional dead leaf falling to the ground, erupted in movement. The landscape transformed, turning from brown to black as more than a hundred assassins materialized around the king and his men. Humans stepped out of the dead hedges ahead. Orcs dropped from the rooftops behind them. Half-elves appeared as if from thin air. They filled the field and the courtyard, more appearing with each blink of the eye.
Captain Kaden, King Korox, and their Magistrate escort found themselves trapped and surrounded. It seemed every hired killer in Erlkazar was here, all wearing black robes and masks—the golden-haired symbol of the Church of Waukeen emblazoned on their chests.
“You have betrayed your kingdom, Korox,” said a man who had appeared from the dead brush. “You have traded in our lives for the life of your daughter.
We are here to take your throne and end your rule.” The assassin pulled a pair of long, thin blades from the sheaths at his waist. “The Matron sends her regards.”
The assassins attacked.
“Magistrates!” shouted Captain Kaden. “Surround the king!”
A tight circle formed around King Korox as the men prepared to fight for their lives.
Quinn came out of the narrow passage into a high-ceilinged room. His skin tingled in anticipation as he realized where he was. The creatures he followed had led him directly back into Xeries’s throne room.
The black beasts were nowhere to be seen. The floor hummed from the magical contraption far below his feet, and the open room was completely empty—except for the arch magus himself.
Xeries stood in front of his throne, intently watching something on the floor, his hunched back and head covered by a heavy robe. Beside him, a half-drunk goblet of wine rested on a short table. If he heard Quinn come out of the tube, he gave no indication.
Lifting himself onto his feet, Quinn stalked silently
across the floor. As he drew closer, he could see a swirling image displayed at the foot of the throne. Some sort of scrying spell Xeries had likely cast. Whatever he was watching, it had his full attention.
Moving up onto the dais, Quinn moved into position to cut Xeries’s throat. He lifted his left hand, and placed his blades just under the arch magus’s throat. He was poised and ready to kill the man who had threatened his king, stolen his love, and nearly destroyed his home. This was why he had come to the Obsidian Ridge. His mission was nearly complete.
But something made him pause.
This all seemed too easy. Why had those beasts led him to the throne room? Why was Xeries unguarded? Something wasn’t right.
Looking down at the image at Xeries’s feet, Quinn could see two figures. One was clearly Xeries in his heavy robes. The other was less clear, so he moved his head slightly to get a better view.
A chill ran down his spine. The second figure was him. Quinn and Xeries were looking down at an image of themselves. The arch magus had been watching him sneak up from behind. He knew that Quinn was there, yet he hadn’t moved.
Grabbing Xeries by his robed shoulder, Quinn spun him around and pulled back his hood—revealing Princess Mariko. A look of desperation filled her eyes, but she didn’t speak.
Pulling the robe from her shoulders, Quinn could see that she was holding a strange furry creature in her bound hands. It wiggled its nose and sneezed.
Then it looked up at him and said, “It’s a trap.”
The air seemed to waver and bend—like waves of heat coming off a hot stone road. The empty throne room filled with Xeries’ minions, the invisible turned visible. Hundreds of them surrounded Quinn and Mariko.
They pounced on Quinn, knocking him to the ground before he could respond. They tore from him his cape. They took from him his sword and his gauntlet, leaving him empty-handed on the floor, two of the black beasts on each of his limbs, holding him down.
And nearby, Xeries himself appeared. Seemingly very pleased with himself, he stepped up on the dais to look down at Quinn—helpless and unarmed.
“You were right. You did come back for me.” He smiled. “I thank you for the warning.”
Quinn struggled against his captors, but it was no use. He was held fast. “Don’t mention it.”
“You realize of course that I’m going to have to make you pay for all of this. All of Erlkazar is going to pay for the damage and difficulty you’ve caused me.”
“Whatever it is you want, you won’t get it,” Quinn said.
Xeries laughed, his echoed voice multiplying the terrible sound. “I already have almost everything I want.” He ran his finger over Mariko’s cheek.
The princess pulled back, and the mimmio conveyed her words. “Don’t touch me, you filthy beast.”
Xeries scowled. “I shall have you despite your defiance. And I shall destroy this little village you call home just for my pleasure.”
He slipped his belt off of his waist and let the robe fall from his shoulders. His body was twisted and blackened, a deformed monstrosity that made both Mariko and Quinn look away in disgust.
“But there is something else.” Waving his hands over his head, Xeries cast a spell. His bent, twisted body grew upright. His blemished, foul skin became smooth. His withered old hands and face became young again. His whole visage transformed.
A chill ran down Quinn’s spine and his chest grew cold. Pinned to the floor, he looked up at an exact doppelganger of himself—complete with one bladed gauntlet.
“You wouldn’t dare,” spat Quinn.
Xeries smiled. “Oh no?” he said, his voice no longer echoing, but now sounding like Quinn. “I want to see the look on your king’s face when I tell him—with your face—that I have betrayed him. That I have turned over his daughter without a fight, and that despite her sacrifice, Erlkazar is doomed.”
Xeries, wearing the appearance of Quinn, turned and strode out of the throne room. “Move the citadel over the water until I return,” he commanded his minions. “And hold those two in my private chamber. I will deal with them both personally when I have finished my business with their king.”
Assassins swirled around King Korox Morkann of Erlkazar and his men, coming in a dozen at a time. They carried all manner of weapons. There seemed no continuity between them except that they wore the same robes and all worked at the same goal—to kill the king.
Already his circle of defenders had dwindled. Four men had died in the opening moments of the battle. Three more and the king’s black mount had also been grievously wounded. They tried to hold their ground, but it was no use. There was no way out of this.
Their shouts were muffled by the dead brown foliage on the once-in-bloom trees. The sounds of their blades colliding with those of the assassins wandered off into the dry air, unheard by the waiting troops. Less than a mile from the mustering army, the king, the head of his Magistrates, and their escort were all going to die.
They fought now only to prolong their lives for a few more precious moments. They stayed on their feet, defending themselves and their king for the pride of having been here at the end. If this was the way they were going to go, then they were going to fight with every last breath left in them.
“Steady!” shouted the king to his defenders. “You are the bravest this land has to offer! Your courage will earn you a place in history!”
His words moved them. Though they were wounded and outnumbered, they fought with the strength of a hundred men. But even if they’d had that many, it would still not have been enough.
A shower of purplish blue light came down on the assassins. It looked like thirty or more brightly colored spring birds diving into the fray, striking the black-robed men attacking the king. They hissed and popped as they impacted, burning holes in their targets and dropping a few to their knees.
A huge bolt of lighting shattered the dry afternoon air. It struck one of the assassins in the back then leaped toward another—and another and another. The electricity reached out like the fingers on a skeletal hand, touching at least half a dozen enemies and striking them senseless. When the spell ended, two of the assassins fell down dead. The others staggered a bit, wisps of steam floating off their shoulders and arms.
The sound of galloping horses echoed out of the courtyard and into the field, followed by the appearance of fifty men, half in armor, half in robes. All wore the jade green and royal blue that could mean only one thing—Lord Purdun of Duhlnarim, the Baron of Ahlarkhem had arrived.
“Guardsmen,” shouted Purdun, “save our king!”
Suddenly the odds had been evened.
The two men had saved each other countless times. Now Purdun had arrived with his elite guard and most of his court mages to protect his friend.
The wizards of Duhlnarim were not a force to be taken lightly. Though there were few of them, they were mighty on the field of battle indeed. Their magic filled the air with crackling energy and dangerous pitfalls for the enemy.
“That way, men!” shouted King Korox. “Meet them halfway!”
Korox forced his way past the Magistrates guarding him, stepping into the fray and leading a charge toward the newly arrived cavalry. His sword bit through cloth and magical wards. His fist came down like the gavel of justice, slamming aside the wicked and the unlawful. His actions spoke louder than his words, and the Crusader King found his place at the head of his troops once again.
Meanwhile, Lord Purdun and his elite guard closed from the other side, using the height of their mounts as an advantage. They charged the line of assassins, pinning them between the barding of their horses and the blades of the Magistrates.
The cavalry slammed into the attackers and bowled them over backward. Swords met swords. Hooves collided with chests. And bolts of magical energy sailed into the fray, knocking the minions of the underworld from their feet.
Blood spilled. Men died. Riders fell from their mounts, and the battle raged on.
Then a foul w
ind blew up from the valley. It shook the dead grass, rattled the brittle leaves, and brought with it the stench of rotting meat.
“The beasts have arrived!”
Xeries’s horde of twisted monstrosities fell upon the fighting men and women of Erlkazar. They bit the heads from assassin and Magistrate alike. They tore into the flesh beneath plates of metal armor. They traded blows with the strong and the quick.
In the distance, the Obsidian Ridge began to move, slipping away from the valley and out over Shalane Lake. Its shadow lifted from Llorbauth, revealing the dead, cracked land it had left behind.
chapter thirty-four
Evelyne sat on the floor, waiting.
Her cell was in the middle of a lava tube. A magical barrier had been placed over the opening, and a pair of guards had been stationed in front. They had looked in on her every few moments. Why, she hadn’t a clue. She was stuck inside a tiny little hole inside a much larger hole, inside a huge floating volcano.
“Where do they think I’m gonna go?” Her voice had returned to her once she was no longer inside Xeries’s chamber.
But then the guards had just left. There was no ceremony, no sound or alarm, no indication of why. One moment they were there, and the next they were gone.
“Guess they got tired of waiting for me to do something.” She tossed a chip of obsidian against the wall and watched it shatter to the floor.
Picking up another piece of the stone, she hurled it at the same spot. When it hit, the whole wall started to shake. Chips of obsidian rained down from the ceiling, and the floor undulated from side to side.
“What the …?”
Evelyne leaped to her feet and was nearly thrown back to the floor. “It’s moving.”
The entire citadel was shifting back and forth. This wasn’t the same hum and vibration that seemed to permeate everything inside the volcano. That was still there, but now it felt like a ship on the high seas, rocking slightly but definitely moving somewhere.