Obsidian Ridge (14 page)

“He’s right. There probably aren’t enough lawful spellcasters in Erlkazar.”

“I’m sure that’s why he’s worried.”

“This might prove useful,” she said. “Tell the king that I can give him everything he wants—his kingdom and his daughter, both safe and sound. But there will be accost.” She rubbed her hands together as she turned and walked back toward her study. “Tell him to turn over the Claw—to me. In return, he will get his daughter back, and we will help him fight the Obsidian Ridge. An alliance between the underworld and the throne.” She smiled. “Tell him he’ll have all the mages he needs.”

Whitman laughed. “You know I can’t just march back into the palace and give the king a message from you.”

“Not looking like that you can’t.” The Matron shook her finger in the air.

The door from the outside corridor screeched open, and the four guards stepped inside.

“But when they’re finished with you, you’ll look the part.”

Whitman got to his feet and started to back away from the guards. “What’s the meaning of this?”

The Matron laughed. “Tell the king you were taken, beaten, and returned with a message. He’ll believe you.”

Whitman skirted around the table, pulling out chairs and tossing them behind him in an effort to get away. But he was too slow, and the guards seized him easily. “Don’t touch me!”

he shouted, as they lifted him onto the table. “You can’t do this to me!”

The Matron stopped when she reached the open door to her study and looked down on Whitman, held as he was against the table.

“And next time you feel the urge to come here, against my will, perhaps you will remember today and think twice.” With a wave of her hand, the huge metal door swung closed, latching quietly.

Whitman struggled for a moment longer, then stopped, looking up at the ceiling, away from his tormentors. The first blow landed against his ribs, sending a flash of pain shooting up his side and across his body. The second, on his cheek, knocking loose a tooth and filling his mouth with blood.

Having control of nothing else, Whitman decided to close his eyes. The damage was going to be done, whether he watched it or not.

+++++

“And what of the evacuation plans?” King Korox leafed through a pile of reports and correspondence. “Any progress?”

The messenger who had delivered them stood at attention. “Those who would leave their homes are on the way south to Five Spears Hold.”

“Unguarded?” The king raised his voice. “The northern corner of Tanistan is crawling with goblins and bandits. Little good the move will do them if they lose their lives in the process.”

A heavy gauntleted hand landed on the messenger’s shoulder. “A unit of the regular army was sent along as an escort,” said Captain Kaden, arriving in the Magistrates’ barracks. “They will arrive safely. The trouble is we have to be prepared to defend Klarsamryn. We can’t afford to spare more than one unit as escorts, so we’re only able to move a small group of

people every few days.” He turned to the young messenger. “You may go. I’ll take it from here.”

The messenger bowed, looking more than a little relieved. “Thank you, sir.” He exited the barracks.

“At this rate it’ll take us all year to get everyone to safety,” said the king.

“Unless we completely abandon the city in a full-scale evacuation, then I’m afraid you’re right.”

The king shook his head. “If we did that, there would be no way to cover our tracks. Xeries could simply follow us. Then we’d be at his mercy and away from our homes. No, if it’s going to work, it has to be done quietly.” He stopped, thinking for a moment. “And what of the court mages? Have they discovered anything?”

Kaden shook his head. “They’ve been working-through the night, but I’m afraid there aren’t enough of them to counteract the powerful wards of the Obsidian Ridge. So far, they’ve found nothing, my lord. At least nothing more than Senator Divian was able to discern.”

“That thing must have a weakness.” King Korox slapped his hand against the wooden post of a soldier’s bunk. “If only we can find it.”

“The arcanists are poring through the royal libraries as we speak, looking for spells that may help up learn more. Perhaps they will turn up something.”

“Perhaps,” agreed the king. “What other news?”

“Not much. We’ve managed to contact a few older elves who corroborate Plathus’s story. They remember hearing about the Obsidian Ridge appearing over Calimshan. No one we’ve spoken to so far actually witnessed the floating citadel with their own eyes, and all are wary of speaking about it.”

“Have you dispatched riders to Calimshan? We need to find someone who can tell us more about this menace.”

Kaden nodded. “Yes, my lord. They left early this morning.”

“Good. Good,” replied the king. There were so many

thoughts running through his head. Not the least of which was Mariko. What could she be going through right now? The thought of her being tortured or mistreated was too much to bear, and he had to turn his mind to something else, just to keep himself from going completely mad.

“My lord,” said Captain Kaden, interrupting the king’s thoughts. “I know you have many important things to do, but I think it would be prudent for you to spend a little time practicing with your sword.”

This caught the king off guard. “There is too much to do, Kaden. I will practice when this is over.”

Kaden bowed his head. “Forgive me, my lord, but you have not been on the battlefield in some time, and a little practice never hurts.”

The king shook him off. “I will be fine, Kaden. I have practiced enough in my lifetime for the both of us.”

“While I’m sure that is true, I really must insist,” said Kaden. “We do not know what dangers lie ahead of us, and the Magistrates may not always be available to look after your safety.” He paused. ” may not always be available to look after your safety.”

“That’s why I have Quinn.”

“Not even Quinn could fight off an entire army of those beasts. Besides, I think you could use something to take your mind off of these matters—if only for a short while.”

Korox raised his hand to silence Kaden, but the idea of practicing his martial arts did seem like a good way to help shake the haunting images from his head.

“Very well,” he said. “Meet me in the fencing yard.”

“Me, my lord?” asked Kaden. “But—”

“Yes, you, Kaden. This was your idea. Now you get to see exactly how little practice I need.”

+

Both hands on the hilt of his sword, Korox Morkann whirled on his attacker. His adversary dropped to the ground, rolling backward and out of the way, just barely avoiding the blade.

The king stepped in, following up with a second, quick strike. His weapon struck Captain Kaden in the ribs, and the leader of the Magistrates—no longer encased in his heavy plate mail—fell to the ground.

“Well done, my lord,” said Kaden, lying on his back, looking up at the king. “You are faster than I gave you credit for.”

Korox nodded. “I told you I didn’t need any practice.”

“I’m not convinced of that yet,” said Kaden. He got back to his feet and dusted himself off.

The king lowered the linen-wrapped bastard sword he’d been using. “Next time, son, don’t pull any of your blows.”

Kaden rubbed his ribs, wincing. “I don’t plan to, my lord.”

“When you are ready, we’ll go again,” said Korox. He walked to the wall of the barracks and dropped his sword against the weapon rack. He picked up a skin of water and took a big swig, wiping the cool droplets off his lips with the back of his hand. “It’s a beautiful morning,” he said, looking up at the clear spring sky draped over the southern half of Llorbauth.

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.”