Obsidian Ridge

by Jess Lebow

  More of the broken stone rained down on Evelyne. She covered her head with her hands and ducked into the corner, trying to protect herself from the falling ceiling and walls.

  Larger and larger chunks fell into her cell, each shattering as it hit the ground. Tiny pieces bounced and ricocheted around the small, carved-out hole. Then just as suddenly as it started, the shaking and movement ceased.

  Evelyne slid out of her corner, sent sprawling by the sudden stop. She put her arms out to catch herself but ended up face-down in a pile of tiny stone shards.

  “Makes me miss the Cellar.”

  Getting up off the floor, she brushed the obsidian chips from her clothes. Looking up at the ceiling, a smile spread across her face.

  “Whoa,” she said. “This should be fun.”

  Right above her head, the movement of the citadel had shaken loose an entire fault line. The result was a huge crack in the stone—big enough for a small person to squeeze through, into the lava tube beyond.

  Chaos ruled the fields outside Klarsamryn. Magistrates fought half-orcs, half-elves, humans, and the black beasts. Enemies winked out of existence, the mages at the back of the line transporting them far away. Lord Purdun and his elite guard held the line of battle with their mounts. King Korox and Captain Kaden fought side-by-side.

  The rest of Xeries’s army scampered up the low hill toward the open field, crushing the dead vegetation into a fine powder as they charged toward the palace. It looked like a wave of tar, flooding over itself as it crashed against the dried, brown dirt of the shore. Surely this was a scene from the Nine Hells.

  As the wave broke across the open ground, it spread out, washing around the cavalry, the assassins, and the Magistrates. The blackness, with its jutting fangs, sharp-edged limbs, and spiked tails slowly surrounded everything else. King Korox stood in the middle of it all, a beacon of light against all that was dark.

  Just as Xeries’s army arrived, the voices of two thousand men filled the battlefield. They burst through the dense, dead foliage as they charged to the side of Korox Morkann.

  The king’s army had arrived to join the battle.

  The fight to win independence from Tethyr had been a long, bloody affair. The wars that followed against the united might of the goblin tribes had been fiercer still. But this battle, now swirling through the fields and courtyards of Klarsamryn, was by far the most wicked contest ever waged in the history of this young country.

  Three hostile armies clashed at once. The assassins sent by the Matron focused their rage toward King Korox and his subjects. The Magistrates and their allies fought on two fronts, against the forces of the underworld and the forces of the arch magus. And Xeries’s beasts bore down on them all, killing anything they could claw or bite.

  “Assassins of Waukeen!” shouted King Korox over the clattering din of battle. “You were sent here to dethrone me. To take control of Erlkazar, so that you could rule it as you saw fit. But you are fighting the wrong foe.”

  He flipped his sword around, and grabbing the hilt in both hands, pounded the tip into the oncoming mouth of an obsidian attacker. The blade ripped though flesh, teeth, bone, and sinew, dropping the beast’s innards on the ground to mix with the blood and mangled flesh already collected there.

  “We may have our differences,” continued the king, “but together we are part of this free nation. And as your king I ask for your help on this battlefield.” He lifted his enchanted, blood-covered sword high in the air. “Together we can win this fight, for Erlkazar!”

  “For Erlkazar!” came the cry from the Magistrates, elite guard, and regular army.

  For a brief moment, the shout overtopped the ringing of metal and the sickening sound of tearing flesh. Then silence descended over the fields beside Klarsamryn, as the king and his warriors held their attacks, waiting for the response.

  King Korox stood his ground, his hand lifted high in the air. He could hear the sound of his heart pounding in his chest as the silence seemed to drag on and on.

  Then finally, “For Erlkazar!” shouted one man.

  “For Erlkazar!” screamed two more.

  “For Erlkazar!” came the cacophony.

  And the battle resumed in full force, this time with a united front.

  Men, half-orcs, and half-elves who had come to the palace to wrest it from the hands of the king, were now fighting in the name of their country. They worked the tools of their trade, employed their expertise as killers, in an effort to repulse these invaders. The men and women of the Magistrates—a group formed with the express purpose of defending Erlkazar from the forces of the underworld—fought by their side. These were desperate times, desperate people, now protecting a desperate land.

  Leading them all, assassin, mage, and solider alike, King Korox punched, kicked, slashed and fought. His crown had long ago fallen from his head. His armor had lost its shine. The edge of his blade had gone dull, slamming down onto the invaders who would dare take his home.

  His breath was labored, his muscles sore, his burden heavy. But it seemed that the fight might be turning in their favor. The tide of black beasts was at a standstill. All they needed was one final push, just one thing to fall in their direction, to change the momentum and balance of this war. They could defeat these invaders, send them from this land and regain what rightfully belonged to them.

  That’s when the king spotted Quinn at the edge of the battlefield.

  The king’s assassin approached Xeries’s army from the back of their line. He struck down the invaders with each step he took, moving with a purpose toward Korox. His long sword came down with one hand, his bladed gauntlet with the other, and he cleared a path like a farmer harvesting a field of ripe wheat.

  This is what they needed, thought the king. Quinn would turn the tides in their favor. Victory was at hand. All they needed was to reach out and grab it.

  With a few more strides, the king’s closest ally, his bodyguard and personal assassin reached his side. Korox reached out his hand and grabbed his friend by the shoulder.

  “You have returned!”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Quinn.

  “Is it done?”

  Quinn nodded. “Xeries has your daughter. I turned her over as instructed.”

  Korox pulled back, confused. “He has Mariko? Then why are you here?”

  “Xeries was just too powerful.” Quinn shrugged. “I turned over your daughter and begged for my life.”

  Korox felt the world grow cold. “That monster has my daughter.” His desire and fight drained from his body as if it were blood spilling from a massive wound. His knees went weak, and he dropped to the ground. “He has my daughter.”

  “Xeries was merciful and gave me back my life,” continued Quinn. “He let me go in exchange for Princess Mariko. He said I was a good servant, and that her sacrifice would please him.”

  Korox looked up at Quinn. The bodyguard had a smile on his face, as if he were enjoying the pain that the king now felt. “Mariko is gone.”

  Quinn nodded. “She is out of our reach. Xeries has won.” Then he turned and headed away from the battlefield, bypassing the beasts and assassin, heading for the dead trees lining the easternmost buildings of the palace.

  chapter thirty-five

  Quinn had never been much for waiting. He was more of a man of action. Sitting here trapped while Xeries was out there masquerading was maddeningly difficult. Every few moments he would get up and pace the floor. He would examine the cracks in the walls. He would scan the faces of the decrepit women—the past wives of Xeries.

  Each of the women had been placed in a fabric-lined coffin. Those in turn had each been set inside small, carved-out recesses in the black stone wall. And each of those had been equipped with a heavy door, all of which were open at the moment, giving Quinn a spectacular view of something he wished he’d never seen.

  Not one of them moved. Not an inch. They were like life-sized dolls, displaying their tortured existence for the amusement of
any who happened to gaze upon them. Quinn wasn’t able to look for more than a few moments. He shuddered every time he thought about Mariko being turned into one of those helpless, terrible creatures. It was too much to bear.

  Finishing his latest rounds through the small room, he sat back down beside Mariko.

  “I have failed you,” he said, not looking at her.

  “You haven’t failed,” she said through the mimmio. “I’m not gone or dead yet.”

  He smiled. “You never did know when to give up, did you?”

  Mariko shook her head. “Never will.”

  Quinn took her hand in his and sat beside her in silence. Since the Obsidian Ridge had arrived over Llorbauth, this was the most time they had spent together.

  He turned, lifted his eyes to hers, and looked into them. “Well, if you’re not ready to give up, then I have a question for you.”

  Mariko smiled. “What’s that?” asked the furry creature in her hands.

  “Will you marry me?”

  She cocked her head to one side, as if she were trying to figure out if he was joking or not. Then, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t, she nodded.

  “Yes, Quinn, I will marry you.”

  From high up on the wall, a noise caught their attention.

  Quinn stood and stared up at the inhabitants of the room. A chill ran down his spine to think that one of them might be creaking around in her final resting spot, not quite dead, watching him propose marriage to the woman who was likely going to occupy the last empty place on the wall.

  The faces of all the decrepit old bodies stared down on him as he examined them. Then one of them moved.

  Quinn felt the pit of his stomach drop out, and his skin went cold. The suffering that woman must have endured—and continued to endure. He looked away.

  Mariko stood beside him, and she pointed at the space on the wall.

  “It’s the coffin. Something is moving the coffin.”

  Quinn pulled his eyes back up. She was right. It wasn’t the wife moving, but the coffin that held her. It shifted side to side, very slowly at first, but then it grew more noticeable, until finally it started to shake quite violently.

  The coffin jerked forward, and the body of the woman inside flopped out, tumbling past the open door and falling head over heels onto the floor, three coffin heights below.

  The body landed with a thud, and Quinn had to cover his face. The coffin came down right behind the woman, shattering as it impacted. Both Quinn and Mariko jumped back to avoid the flying debris.

  “Do you know how long it took me to get that thing to break free?”

  Above, where the coffin had been inside its recessed cove, there was now a large crack in the wall. Through it, Evelyne stuck her head into the room.

  “I’ve been listening to you two lovers make cooing sounds for far too long.”

  “Nice of you to let us know you were there,” said Quinn, beginning to climb up past the other coffins to get to Evelyne. “I guess this means you’ve found another shortcut.”

  “You bet,” she replied. “Got free rein of the whole place.”

  Jallal Tasca skulked out from an alcove, blending in with the black stone of the surrounding walls as he moved. He had followed Quinn and his two companions inside the floating black volcano when they had first arrived on horseback. None of them had seen him. None of the hideous beasts or even their master had noticed a fourth person enter the floating fortress and hide amongst them.

  He had been patient, he felt, stalking through the halls of the citadel, waiting for the right moment to strike. He had seen Quinn escape the throng of black beasts. He had followed through the corridors and passages as the king’s assassin executed Xeries’s pets.

  He had been wrong about Quinn all this time. Watching him work as he did, there was no doubt in Jallal’s mind that the man known for so long as only “the Claw” was capable of terrible, terrible things.

  Jallal rather admired that quality. It was too bad Quinn had to die.

  Crossing the throne room, Jallal pounced on the four beasts standing guard outside Xeries’s private chamber. His exotic blade bit through their flesh and bone with no more effort than a knife through water. It cleaved their obsidian claws from their limbs, took their heads from their shoulders, stole their souls with little more than a thought.

  He stood in front of the private chamber, the corpses of the black beasts at his feet. He had tracked Quinn to this very room. Had seen Xeries disarm him and place him in custody behind that door. All he had to do now, to claim his prize, was to open it and walk through.

  His skin tingled with anticipation. His mind raced with the tantalizing excitement that was to be his revenge. Gripping his blade tightly in one hand, Jallal Tasca released the lever, and the heavy stone door swung wide.

  Charging inside, he skidded to a stop in front of a smashed coffin.

  “No!” His shout rattled the skin of the desiccated corpses, all but one neatly arranged in coffins on the wall.

  The room was empty. Quinn was gone.

  Grabbing the lip of the first coffin with his powerful hands, Jallal began climbing up the wall to the hole near the ceiling.

  He would find Quinn, and when he did, he would make the man suffer. Oh yes. The Claw would beg him for death, and Jallal would oblige.

  The Matron was appalled.

  Arriving at Klarsamryn, she expected to find the king dead and her assassins in control. Instead, she found them fighting by his side. Did she have to do everything herself?

  The beasts from the Obsidian Ridge had also picked this moment to attack the palace. But that was no concern of hers. There would be time enough to deal with them once she controlled the throne. She would negotiate with this Xeries fellow. Every man had his price, and she was certain they could come to some sort of an arrangement that would make everyone happy.

  Right now, however, she was not even close to happy.

  “The goddess Waukeen is not at all pleased!” she screamed, her voice piercing the air.

  The battle raged in front of her. Her assassins engaged the black beasts, none paying attention to her orders or displeasure.

  Pointing her finger at the closest of her minions, she cast a spell.

  “Kill the king,” she commanded.

  The assassin turned away from the beast he was fighting and headed deeper into the fray to do her bidding.

  “Kill the king,” she commanded again and again, continuing to direct the energies of her prayer.

  More and more of her men followed her command, until finally she had turned the tide far enough in her favor that she no longer needed her magic to compel her assassins.

  “Kill the king!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, her words bellowing over the field of battle.

  The assassins responded to her orders, now aware of the Matron and her desires.

  As they had once been swayed by the courageous words of their king, they were now swayed by the fear of retribution from their mistress.

  “If he cannot be controlled, then he must be eliminated,” said the Matron. “Korox, I will have your head on a stake before this day is out.”

  chapter thirty-six

  Quinn and Mariko climbed out of the chamber into a lava tube right behind the wall. Once they were all free, Evelyne started down the corridor.

  “This is the way we came in,” said Evelyne. “I figure it’ll be the way out as well.”

  Mariko followed, but Quinn did not.

  “You two go on,” he said. “I must finish my mission.”

  “Your mission?” asked Evelyne. “We got your girl. What more do you want?”

  “I told the king I’d take down the citadel, and I think I know how to do it.”

  “The huge rubies you told me about?” asked Mariko through the mimmio.

  “That’s right,” replied Quinn. “I’m going to destroy them and this place with it.”

  “We’ll go with you,” said Mariko.

 
Quinn took her by the arms and gave her a long, slow kiss. “Your father will need your help. Go to him. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “But …”

  Quinn cut her off with another long kiss. “No time to argue. Your father is in danger, and he may think that I’ve betrayed him. Find him. Protect him. Then we can be together—when this is all over.”

  “Listen to your man, honey,” said Evelyne. “We’ll get to getting, and he’ll do whatever it is that a man’s got to do. Leave the romance part for later.”

  There was a screeching sound behind them, coming from the chamber they had just left.

  “Hurry now,” said Quinn. “No sense in getting caught again.”

  Mariko nodded. Then, giving him one last kiss good-bye, she and Evelyne slipped down the hall.

  Quinn watched them go, thinking that he had spent a lot of time lately doing exactly that. When she disappeared into the darkness, he turned and went the other way down the lava tube.

  In the middle of the swirling melee, where men fought and died, where the future of a kingdom lay at stake, a friendship turned the tides.

  “Get up, Korox.”

  The Warrior King, Korox Morkann of Erlkazar, sat on his knees in the center of the battlefield. His sword lay on the ground before him. His face rested in his hands. He recognized the voice. Lord Purdun, the Baron of Ahlarkhem, old friend and brother-in-law to the king, stood before him, defending Korox against the onslaught of fighters.

  “I have nothing left,” he said, shaking his head. “I have doomed my kingdom to save my daughter, and now I have lost everything.”

  “This is not the man I know.” Another would-be assassin went sprawling to the ground, split across the belly by Lord Purdun’s sword. “What would your father think if he saw you now? Where would we be if he had given up when his wife, your mother, was killed?”

  “He did not lose everything,” said the king. “He had me, and his daughter—your wife.”