Obsidian Ridge (32 page)

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. Ridets fell from their mounts, and the battle raged on.

Then a foul wind 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 tote 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.

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 neatly 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.

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-ores, 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 cavalty, 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 innaids 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-coveted 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-ores, 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 teach. 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.

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.