Chapter seven
Call Captain Kaden!" shouted King Korox. "And Senator Divian too!"
Whitman and Quinn, the only two others in the room, bowed and took off to find the king's advisors. Korox stood at the edge of his balcony, looking down onto the valley, the water, and the sprawling city of Llorbauth.
"For all that is holy," he whispered. "What is that thing?"
Right in the middle of his view hung a mountain. The morning sun had risen, but the shadow of the floating fortress left most of the city still in the dark.
"You called, my lord?" Captain Kaden arrived out of breath, having run all the way in his heavy plate mail.
"Have you seen this?" asked the king.
"Yes, my lord. I think everyone in the barony has seen
it."
The king nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is hard to miss." "I've already put the Magistrates on notice." The king paced back to the other side of the room. "Does anyone know what it is? Where it came from?" "No one I've spoken to, my lord."
Quinn arrived, running up the stairs and into the chamber.
"I found the senator," he announced between large gulps of air, his blond hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. "She
just arrived at the palace and will be here momentarily."
The king continued to pace. Nothing like this ever happened during his father's reign. If only his wife were still alive. She always seemed to know what to do in impossible situations. Thinking of her gave him an idea.
"Quinn, see if you can find Plathus," said the king.
"The queen's old tailor?"
"He's probably the oldest person in Klarsamryn. Maybe he knows something about this... this thing floating outside my window."
Quinn bowed and left. As the king's bodyguard stepped out, Senator Divian stepped in.
One of the king's chief advisors and one of the most influential voices on the matter of law and order in the kingdom, Senator Divian was also a very powerful cleric. Tall and slender, her hair had gone completely white years before, with only the occasional strand of grayish blond still showing. Despite her slowly advancing years, she was still quite attractive, and more than a few of Erlkazar's powerful dukes and noblemen had pursued her.
Winded like everyone else from the rapid climb up the stairway, the senator approached King Korox. Under her left arm she carried what appeared to be a very old and very heavy tome. And in her right hand, she gripped an ornately wrapped alabaster staff.
"I have been trying all morning," she blurted, trying also to catch her breath. "But I've learned nothing." "Trying what?" asked the king.
The cleric came to stop at his side. She placed her staff on a small table and opened her dilapidated book. The worn pages bore an ancient script on them. And the king recognized immediately that this was a holy text—perhaps the oldest of its kind in the kingdom.
"Trying to see inside," she said, having now regained much of her composure.
Waving her hand over the words as she recited them aloud,
Senator Divian raised her voice in a melodic prayer. Above the book, a small cloud of white, gaseous vapor appeared. It swirled in long wisps, folding over itself until it formed into a small globe. The globe spun in a tight circle, spinning faster and faster as the senator continued her prayer. In the middle of the globe, a shape took form—the torn, jagged ridge of the mountain floating over the city.
The vision grew, the crags and sharp edges coming into focus. As it closed in, openings appeared along the base and higher up along the ridge. They looked to be hand-hewn archways with heavy stone doors hung in between.
The magical image closed in on one of these archways. Along its edges were several rows of inlaid golden filigree.
"What is that?" asked the king, pointing at the ornate markings.
The wisps of vapor shot away from the globe. The floating mountain began to shake and grow blurry. The image exploded into a million tiny mores of black, buzzing around each other like a hive of angry bees. Then just as quickly, they coalesced into the shape of a monstrous hand—huge, hairy fingers with scabs on the knuckles and sharp, discolored claws at the ends.
The hand reached out, grabbing the edge of the tome and slamming it shut. The book tumbled from the senator's grasp, landing on the floor with a loud slam and splitting slightly at the seam.
The senator let out a perturbed sigh and bent down to pick up her tome, seeming unaffected by what they had just witnessed. "As I was saying, I've been praying all morning for a vision into what that hunk of black rock out there wants from us."
"How do you know it wants anything?" asked the king.
Senator Divian looked up at King Korox. "Make no mistake, my lord. Whatever is inside that thing is made of pure evil, and evil always desires something."
The king nodded. Turning away from the senator, he
looked out again at the black mountain. "You say you tried to cast that spell before, and each time you see nothing more than we did this time?"
"That is right," replied the senator. "The entire ridge is warded against scrying. I have seen nothing more than you have."
"Any guesses?"
The senator laughed. "Perhaps a demon has decided to take a holiday in Llorbauth."
The king scowled and turned to Captain Kaden. "And you? Any ideas?"
"I've never seen anything like it." The leader of the Magistrates shook his head. "But whatever it is, we need to be ready to fight it."
"Are you suggesting that we send our army up against that... that abomination?" asked Senator Divian. "Do you think that is wise? We still don't know anything about it."
"What I am suggesting, Senator," said Kaden, "is that we must be ready to defend our home. And yes, one option is force."
"I hardly think provoking an attack from a magical foe is the correct course of action, Captain," said the Senator.
"Silence," said the king. "We have enough trouble without the two of you getting into one of your philosophical squabbles."
"Yes, my lord," replied Kaden, shooting the old cleric a nasty glare.
Senator Divian picked up her tome and crossed her arms, holding the book to her chest. She returned the captain's look. "As you wish, my king."
"Good. I will need the both of you on the same side if we are going to guide Erlkazar out of this in one piece."
Both nodded, but they continued to stare at one another, refusing to look away.
The sound of footsteps on the marble floor broke the awkward silence.
The king waited for the senator and the captain to break their gaze with one another before looking up himself to see that Quinn had returned.
The king's bodyguard escorted the late queen's tailor. The impeccably dressed old half-elf walked with the aid of a cane, and Quinn held his arm, helping him finish climbing the stairs.
"Plathus," said the king, relieved by the tension breaker and genuinely glad to see an old familiar face. "It's been a long time."
The half-elf, his back hunched from a century of bending over a needle and thread, ambled to the king and took his hand in greeting.
"Too long, I'm afraid," replied Plathus. "Your clothes are looking quite shabby."
The king smiled. "I see you haven't lost your charm."
"No, no," said the half-elf. "I've lost much of my eyesight, and many of my teeth, but not my charm." Reaching into a pocket on his vest, Plathus pulled out a tiny pair of spectacles and placed them on the bridge of his nose. "Now," he said, looking the king up and down. "What sort of garment did you have in mind?"
"Actually, Plathus, I have asked you here for another reason."
The half-elf lifted his nose. "Oh?"
"Yes," replied Korox. "I want to know if you've ever heard of or seen that." He pointed to the floating black mass hovering over Llorbauth.
Plathus followed the king's outstretched arm and gazed out over the balcony.
"Oh my." The old half-elf lost his balance and tottered sideways. His spectacles fell from his face, shattering as they hit the marble.
Kaden, Quinn, and the king all dashed to catch him, but they weren't fast enough, and Plathus spilled to the floor. His cane slipped from his hand, bouncing several times,
and the harmonious knock of the solid silverwood filled the chamber.
"Are you hurt?" asked the king.
The old half-elf seemed confused and a little dazed. He checked himself over, looking in each of his pockets before nodding.
"No, no. I don't think so."
The king and Quinn helped him back to his feet.
Plathus grimaced sheepishly. "Thank you," he said, dusting himself off and trying to regain some of his dignity.
"So I take it you've seen this before," said Korox, handing him back his cane.
The old tailor pursed his lips, seriousness written on his face. "Not with my own eyes. But I have heard of it, have met others who have seen it hang in the sky."
"Do you know what it is?" asked the senator. "What it wants?"
"It is called the Obsidian Ridge," said Plathus. "At least, that is what we called it at the time. What it wants, I do not know."
"Do you know where it came from?" asked the king.
The tailor shook his head. "No. All I know is that no one will speak of the terrors that follow the arrival of the dark citadel. To speak of them gives them life. Makes them real—flesh and blood from shadow and hate."
"How long ago did it last appear?"
"It's hard to say." Plathus thought for a moment. "I was only a boy, and the elves who spoke of it were old themselves. Perhaps a hundred, two hundred years ago?" He shook his head.
"Did it appear here?" asked the senator. "In Erlkazar?"
"Erlkazar had not yet been conceived. It was still part of Tethyr, and the Crusaders who liberated her were not yet born." He shook his head, a grave look on his face. "No, this very thing appeared over Calimshan."
"What else can you tell us?" The king was growing more
and more nervous with every word the old half-elf spoke.
"Just that you are right to be afraid—terribly afraid of the Obsidian Ridge."
"That's all you have to say?" said Senator Divian. "That we should be afraid? You know nothing else to say?"
The old half-elf leveled his gaze at the senator, the stern look of a disciplinarian about to scold a disobedient child. "I know that we are wasting time standing here talking." He turned back to the king. "We're in for a fight. And not a quick one. You'd do well to make preparations to defend Llorbauth." He bowed his head before his king. "My lord, the battle has not yet started, but I do believe we are at war."
+++++
An entire unit of the king's army rode out from the palace. Five hundred men strong, they carried the royal flag of Korox Morkann at their head—the twin red wyverns slithering as the fabric was pushed by the wind. Polished to a high shine, their armor reflected bright in the afternoon sun. The war-horses donned the livery of the kingdom of Erlkazar. The riders carried long swords, their hilts tied symbolically shut with peace ribbon.
It was the king's great hope that they would not need to use their blades—not against this foe, not today, not ever. The peace ribbon had been the compromise he had made to appease Senator Divian. If his army was going to ride out to meet this threat, at least they could arrive with the illusion that they were willing to negotiate. Or so the senator argued.
The shadow of the Obsidian Ridge had grown longer as the day had gone on. And the riders' armor, reflective and bright, went dark and dull as they rode into its embrace. The captain at the head of the column held up his hand, and the well-disciplined unit of cavalry came, as one, to a stop.
The captain looked up at the floating citadel. If possible,
it was even more imposing up close. The black stone that formed the fortress's base looked as if it had simply been ripped from the earth. Like a huge hand had reached down from out of the sky, grabbed the ridge, and tore it from its home—leaving a gaping hole in the ground and taking with it most of a mountain range.
Broken stone seemed to drip from the mountain's surface. Angular boulders tumbled over each other, shattering and re-shattering as they crashed into the sides of the citadel, only to fall off the base into the open air, ultimately burying their sharp edges in the ground below.
The captain swallowed hard. He'd been sent here with a message for whoever or whatever was inside.
"In the name of King Korox Morkann, the capital city of Llorbauth, the Barony of Shalanar, and the Kingdom of Erlkazar, we come to speak with the lord of the Obsidian Ridge!" His words echoed in the chasm between the floating citadel and the city below.
Stones continued to fall from the black mountain, splattering their sharp, jagged bits across the ground like raindrops in a mud puddle. The captain and his men waited, but there was no response.
Clearing his throat, the captain continued. "We have come with the intention of negotiating the peaceful retreat of the Obsidian Ridge from the Kingdom of Erlkazar. We do not wish this meeting to become a hostile conflict, but we are prepared to defend our home with any means necessary." The captain paused, chewing on his next words. "Even bloodshed."
No response.
"We respectfully request—"
The captain's message was cut short by the sound of grinding stone. The heavy doors that hung inside the hand-hewn archways slowly opened. The dripping stones falling from the edge of the fortress came down harder, a light drizzle becoming a rainstorm.
Black shapes poured out of the doors. They rolled down the sides of the citadel, dropping off the base and joining the shower of jagged obsidian. When they landed on the ground, they did not shatter—they unfurled.
Like men, they stood on two legs. But that is where the similarities ended. Their skin resembled the broken bits of obsidian littering the ground—smooth, shiny, and pitch black. Tufts of course black hair covered their bodies in patches. Their heads were long and thin; teeth like those of a wild boar; hands covered in spiky bone and long sharp obsidian claws; eyes, light blue circles against huge pure black pupils; hooves in place of feet; and long thin tails with wicked-looking barbs at their tips.
"May Helm have mercy on my soul," whispered the captain.
That was all he had time to say. The foul beasts pounced upon the front row of cavalry, sinking their teeth into soldier and mount alike. The sounds of bodies breaking and flesh being torn from bone wafted out into the plain. The screams of dying men and horses echoed under the obsidian citadel.
The cascade of black beasts from the floating mountain grew. The creatures poured down on the heads of the king's army. The soldiers' swords broke their peace bonds, but they rarely had time to do much else. The creatures were swift and merciless. They tore into the cavalry with the vigor of hungry dragons. And as quickly as the rain of death started, it ended.
All five hundred men in the unit lay dead, dismembered, or pulverized. Their mounts lay with them, many resembling little more than wrinkled shreds of flesh and mingled piles of intestine, stomach, and broken bone. The field was muddy from the dirt mixing with the puddles of blood.
The beasts let out a cacophony of satisfied wails, then piled atop one another, building a ladder out of their bodies until they could reach the citadel's base with their razor claws. Climbing over each others' backs, moving as one,
they scrambled back up into the open archways, leaving their carnage behind.
When the last of them had returned from whence they came, the stone doors swung closed, their heavy grinding signaling the answer of the Lord of the Obsidian Ridge.

Chapter Eight
The long journey back to Llorbauth from Duhlnarim was finally over. It had been early morning when the Claw left Klarsamryn, but he returned in total darkness.
Though inconveniently timed, the information he'd retrieved from Captain Beetlestone would be of great use in his fight against the Elixir trade. But right now, the king's assassin was preoccupied with the gigantic floating volcano perched over Llorbauth and the developing plot against the king's life.
A row of low hedges had been planted just outside the southern edge of the palace. The groundskeeper, in her infinite wisdom, had placed them several strides away from the building, so they had room to grow and mature. After almost ten years, the hedges were still considered young. Though they were not very tall, they were quite full, and the space between them and the palace gave the Claw easy, unobserved access to and from the courtyard where he nightly met the princess.
Tonight was just like most other nights. The outer buildings that surrounded their rendezvous were shut up tight. The spring air was warm, and the new blossoms on the trees filled the courtyard with their sweet fragrance—a romantic place for a late night meeting.
Coming around the corner, the Claw passed the tall
statue of Mariko's mother, the queen. She was posed with an open book in her hands, looking down at the pages. Every time he came into the courtyard, the Claw couldn't help but think that she was watching him. He wondered sometimes whether or not she would approve of his rendezvous with the princess.
Slipping past the statue, he entered the courtyard and made his way to their meeting spot near the center. He was quite late, but despite his tardiness, he was the first to arrive. That was unusual but not unheard of. Especially considering the arrival of the black fortress.
Still, something wasn't right. And after waiting in the courtyard for some time, he started to get concerned. The sun would be coming up soon, and with every passing moment, the chances of meeting the princess were growing smaller.
The Claw's long day had become even longer. As he slipped out the way he had come, he glanced up at the stone carving of the queen.
"I'll find her," he said.
Then he headed down the thinly paved road toward the docks—the stomping grounds of Llorbauth's underworld.
+++++
The shadows near the Obsidian Ridge seemed unnaturally dark. Even in the dead of night, the looming citadel cast a pall over the homes and lives of everyone in Llorbauth.
Though he was still quite a ways away, traversing the road from the palace to the docks was the closest the Claw had been to the hulking mountain. More than simple blackness, or even the foreboding sense of unease that it gave off, there was power here. Great power. He couldn't be certain, but he could have sworn he heard a high-pitched humming, as if the entire citadel were vibrating, pushing the air around it.
Moving cautiously through the trees and brush along the side of the road, the king's assassin froze in his tracks.
He heard voices carrying on the wind. At least two, maybe more. He stopped to listen. They were gruff and deep, and it sounded as if they were just up ahead.
Slipping quietly through the brush, he approached what appeared to be two men. Both on horseback, they sat in their saddles, looking this way and that in the middle of a tight curve on the main road.
"They better get here soon," said one. "I'm not all that happy about waiting for our Elixir in the shadow of that... thing."
"Nor am I," replied the other.
Moving in a little closer, the Claw crouched in the heavy brush only a few steps away. From this part of the road, neither the palace nor the entrance to the docks were visible— the ideal location for an illicit rendezvous.
"Do you hear that?" asked one of the men.
The Claw didn't move. His heart raced. He'd been preoccupied with the Obsidian Ridge. Had he given himself away?
"I heard nothing," said the other.
"No, listen," insisted the first. "Coming from the docks."
The sound of horses drifted in off the water and mingled with the breeze rustling the leaves. Then a coach came into view. A driver and a guard sat up front, side by side on a single wooden bench. Both jingled with chain mail.
The carriage had two compartments, a traditional one right behind the driver, and another attached to the top for more important passengers. The upper box had curtains across its windows. The Claw recognized the coach. It had been custom made, and there was only one like it in the kingdom.
The man inside was one of the most notorious wizards-for-hire in all of Erlkazar. He had cashed in on the Elixir trade, traveling from town to town, selling bottled potions to the highest bidder. But unlike many of the cheats and swindlers, this man sold the real deal.
His potions were magical all right—dark magic. Those
who swallowed the Elixir would find themselves transported to another time and place. They would have their euphoric trance, but often they never came out of it. Those who did come out became hopelessly addicted, needing to get more and more.
The coach reached the curve in the road and slowed as it reached the two men on horseback. Leaping from his crouch out of the trees the Claw somersaulted onto the dirt road in front of the carriage. Two quick flips of his wrist severed the leather straps holding the horses' halters to the shafts. Startled by the sudden appearance of a masked, bladed figure, the horses immediately bolted, galloping down the road tethered together but free of their wheeled burden.
"What in the—" shouted one guard.
"We're under attack!" hollered the other.
No longer attached to the horses, the coach came to a rolling stop. The guard and driver jumped down, pulling their swords with a practiced flair.
"Surrender." The Claw got to his feet, his bladed gauntlets poised at his sides. "Or I'll be forced to kill you."
"I'd give you the same option," said the coach driver, "but it's too late for you. Whoever you are, you've chosen the wrong coach to rob."
The doors swung open and two more men, each with a pair of short swords, stepped out. Then the men on horseback rode around the carriage and took up positions behind the Claw, each pointing a loaded crossbow at him as they stopped.
"This is your last warning," said the king's assassin. "Drop your weapons and turn over your cargo. It's your only chance to live."
The driver chuckled. "You hear him, boys? We got him surrounded and outnumbered six to one, and he's the one giving us orders." The other guards didn't laugh.
The driver lunged, stabbing to his left then striking to his right. The attack forced the Claw back.
The Claw dropped to the ground and somersaulted backward. Curled into a ball, he heard the tell-tale twang of
crossbows discharging, one right after the other. The first bolt thudded harmlessly into the ground in front of the driver, right where the Claw had been standing. The second, however, hit him square in the ribs, knocking the wind from his chest and sending him spinning sideways.
Getting to one knee, the Claw looked down at himself. There was no blood, no bolt sticking out of his skin. His whole left side throbbed in pain, and it hurt to breathe. Scanning the ground, he saw why—they were firing square-tipped bolts—wide, flat heads used to dent and ruin heavy armor, not pierce. These men were prepared to fight a unit of soldiers in plate mail. Instead they were fighting him, and they had just crushed one of his ribs.
They didn't give him much time to recover. Three men came at him at once, their swords darting from different directions. The Claw barely had time to bash them aside and skitter back. Getting to his feet, he favored his hurt ribs, trying to keep his left arm close to his body.
The driver and the other three swordsmen were closing in. The men on horseback were cranking their crossbows, getting ready for another volley. He suspected they wouldn't use the same bolts, and next time he wouldn't be as lucky.
The Claw took one more step back then launched himself into the oncoming guards. The first man slashed at him with his short swords. Catching one between both gauntlets, he twisted, breaking the sword in half. The other blade slipped harmlessly past as the guard lost his balance, tripping and falling to one knee.
The Claw growled at the sharp burning in his own side. It hurt, but the pain faded as he concentrated on the fight in front of him. Turning, he slit the guard's throat in a single swipe, dropping the man lifeless to the ground.
Two other men came at him, one from each side. Dropping into a crouch, he put all of his weight on his left leg, sweeping his right out. The move caught both men behind their knees. The guards tumbled, landing hard on
their backs, spread eagle on the ground.
Slashing just below the cuff of their chain mail tunics, he gutted them both, spilling their innards—leaving them alive but helpless as he moved on to the next guard.
Darting underneath the first horse, the Claw slit the strap, and the saddle slipped off sideways. The rider grabbed at the reins, pulling to hold himself up, but it was no use. His feet tangled in the stirrups, and the man fell from his mount. The bolt he had been loading into his crossbow dropped from his hands, landing harmlessly on the dirt road.
The horse, unnerved at losing its rider, pranced and whinnied. The rider still held the reins, yanking the poor beast's face to the left. Skittering sideways, the mount stepped down on top of its fallen rider—right on his head, smashing it like a pumpkin.
The Claw rolled away, out from underneath the frantic horse. Getting to his feet, he watched as it reared back then took off at a run, dragging the limp body of its tangled rider with it down the road.
The other rider, fumbling with his crossbow, gave up on the endeavor, tossing it away and pulling his sword. He kicked his heels in and galloped toward the Claw at full speed. Twisting away from the attack, the Claw leaped into the air. Grabbing hold of the rider's shoulder, he pulled himself up onto the back of the horse. The blades of his gauntlet bit deep into the man's flesh, and the guard curled into a ball, dropping his sword and falling sideways off the horse.
Grabbing hold of the reins, the Claw climbed into the saddle and turned the mount around to face the carriage. A pair of eyes peered out of the upper compartment for a flash, then the curtains over the window were jerked shut. Of the guards, only the driver remained standing. He held his blade out before him, but it shook in his grip as he surveyed the carnage on the ground.
The Claw eased the horse forward, and the driver raised his hands in the air.
"I surrender."
"Drop your sword," said the Claw.
The driver nodded nervously and did as he was told.
"Now leave," said the Claw.
"L-leave?"
"Go back to the docks." The Claw rode up beside the driver, looking down at him through the dark holes in his mask. "And tell everyone there about what happened to you today. You tell them that the Elixir trade is finished in Erlkazar."
"Uh... uh, y-yes," stammered the driver. "Certainly. As you command."
"Go now. Before I change my mind."
The man turned and ran back toward the water and the seedy side of Llorbauth.
The Claw climbed off the horse and approached the carriage. The doors on the flying coach were still closed, and the curtains were pulled tight against the windows.
"In the name of the King Korox Morkann, I command you to exit the carriage."
Nothing moved.
The Claw cleared his throat. "You are to be taken to Llorbauth, where you will be tried for trafficking in black magic."
Still nothing.
"You saw what happened to your guards when they resisted. This is your last warning. Come out and surrender, or I will take you by force."
The latch clicked, but the door stayed shut for a long moment. Then, slowly, it creaked as it opened. It was dark inside with the curtains pulled tight, and though the door was open, the passenger didn't immediately appear.
The Claw was struck cold by a terrible thought. "Invisible," he muttered.
Leaping up onto the edge of the carriage, he reached his arm inside the coach, swiping around blindly. Nothing. Nothing.
Then his blades caught, and an earsplitting screech filled the car.
"Damn, damn, damn!" shouted a voice. "I'm cut! I'm bleeding!"
Then the air crackled, and the hair on the back of the Claw's neck stood on end. A bolt of blue-white energy shot out of the coach. The Claw barely had time to throw himself backward as the magical lightning whizzed past him and impacted the road. Rocks and dirt flew everywhere, covering the bodies of the fallen guards.
The Claw landed flat on his back, the front of his cloak singed. Jumping to his feet, he closed on the carriage, not stopping to brush the dirt from his chest. A hand shot out of the open door, pointing a wand at him with its shaky fist.
Not waiting for another blast, the Claw swung down with his right gauntlet, catching the wizard's hand under its razor-sharp blades and raking four deep gashes along his forearm. The man squealed like a stuck pig and dropped his wand as he clutched his bleeding arm.
Grabbing the wizard by the collar of his robe, the Claw dragged him out of the passenger compartment and dumped him onto the ground in front of the carriage.
The man was thin and rather sickly looking—not exactly as the Claw had imagined him. He wore fine, red velvet robes and sported a well-waxed moustache on the front of his narrow face. Lying on the ground, he pressed his robes against the pumping wounds, moaning.
"Please," he said, sobbing and rocking side to side. "I've done nothing. You have the wrong man."
The doors to the lower compartment were still wide open. The inside was full, stacked to the ceiling with sealed crates. Smashing his fist through the wooden top of the first crate, the Claw pulled out a flask of the brownish Elixir.
"So," he said, holding up the proof. "You're not involved in the Elixir trade?"
"That's not what it looks like." The wizard held up his one
good hand. "They're just... just healing potions."
The Claw popped open the cork on the flask. "Really? Healing potions?" He looked down at the gushing wounds on the man's right arm. "Looks like you need one now."
Grabbing the wizard by the back of the head, he forced the open bottle into his mouth. "Drink."
The scrawny man struggled against the bigger man's grasp, twisting, spitting, and gasping for air. The Claw gripped a handful of hair and tilted his head back, forcing the flask deeper into his mouth. The thick brownish liquid spilled out the sides of his mouth and drizzled down his cheeks. But despite his attempts to keep it out, the wizard eventually swallowed several large gulps.
The Claw tossed away the empty bottle and shoved the peddler back onto the ground. Scrambling backward away from his attacker, the wizard gagged and coughed, gasping for air.
"Are you—" The wizard convulsed and vomited all over himself—"crazy? You almost killed... almost..." His head began to loll back and forth on his shoulders. His eyes grew dim, closing part way. "Almost... almost killed... killed... me." Slipping backward on the viscous liquid, the wizard tried to hold himself up. He tried to stand, but only got part way to sitting, a confused look on his face.
The Claw lifted the wizard by the front of his robes. Placing his hand on the scrawny man's forehead, he pried his eyelid up with his thumb. The wizard's pupils were completely black, fully dilated, and his eyes were darting back and forth.
The Claw looked down the road, where the trees blocked the view to the docks beyond. The princess could take care of herself. Right now, duty called.
Lifting the wizard off of his feet, the Claw flopped the man's incapacitated body over the saddle on one of the horses. He ripped a strip of the man's robe off and tied a bandage around his arm. He pulled a tinderbox from under his cape, lit a piece of parchment, and tossed it inside the open door of the carriage. The dry wood of the Elixir crates ignited, and soon the flames reached out to wrap the rest of the carriage in their embrace.
The Claw grabbed hold of the reins and lifted himself onto the horse. Adjusting the limp body of the wizard on the saddle behind him, he took one look back. "Healing potions, huh?"
The coach erupted in flame as the Elixir caught fire.
++++
Chapter Nine
A complete slaughter. Not a single man or horse returned alive. The horror of the situation lay heavy on the shoulders of King Korox. He'd been pacing the length of his audience chamber for some time, receiving reports from his scouts and weighing his battle options. He sat now in his throne, his heart darkened. Evacuation, it seemed, was a very real option.
The sun was rising, and he had not yet been to bed. His head was full of thoughts—of the men who had been lost; of Five Spears Hold, the closest, safest location to send refugees if and when he gave the evacuation order; and of the newest threat posed to his kingdom, the hulking, blackened citadel that blotted out the daylight and cast fear upon the hearts of every citizen in Llorbauth.
"You cannot blame yourself for what happened."
Korox looked up to see Senator Divian standing at the entrance of the audience chamber.
"Can't I?"
The senator smiled. "Well, you are the king, so I suppose that means you can do whatever you please."
He smiled back, weakly. "That's what I'm told."
The senator sat down on the steps of the dais, at the foot of the king's throne. "It wasn't you who killed those men. You were only trying to protect the people of this kingdom."
"Tell that to those soldiers."
"Oh, come now," the senator scolded. "You know better than most that the life of a soldier is a perilous one at best. Those men knew what they were getting into. They were men of honor, men of duty, and they proudly served Korox Morkann, the Warrior King."
"You make me sound so glorious for having sent an entire unit of men to their deaths."
Senator Divian placed her hand on his leg. "It was not your actions that struck those men dead. And that may not be the only hard decision you have to make in the coming days."
The king scratched his head. "But you were against the decision to send men out there in the first place."
The senator shook her head. "That's not true. At the time, we did not know what we were dealing with or what that thing wanted."
"We still don't," reminded the king.
"No," she conceded, "but I think there is little doubt that whatever it wants, it means to do us some harm if it doesn't get it. And for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing—for Erlkazar."
The king took in a deep breath and nodded. He sat in silence, the senator at his side, mulling over the choices he'd made and would have to make.
Whitman's voice broke his quiet contemplation.
"My lord!" The scribe's boots made a loud clopping sound across the marble floor. "My lord, there appears to be a message for you outside the palace gates."
"A message? From whom?"
Whitman stopped in front of the throne. "From... from that thing—the ruler of the Obsidian Ridge."
The king leaped to his feet. "Why was it not brought to me?
"Uh..." Whitman fumbled for a moment. "My lord, it's... it's—"
"It's what, Whitman? I don't have time for your mumbling. Spit it out."
"The message is inscribed on a giant slab of stone. It cannot be moved."
The king looked at the senator, questioning her with his eyes. She shrugged, just as confused as he.
"You say it's at the palace gates." The king made a move for the door, his bodyguard Quinn right behind him, Senator Divian a close second.
Whitman followed. "Yes, my lord."
Down the steps into the great hall, the king collected followers like rats to a piper. They fell into step behind, wondering, he assumed, what the message from the Obsidian Ridge would bring to light.
Outside of the keep, a crowd of servants and court functionaries were already gathered. Though the drawbridge was down, and the heavy wooden doors were open, the portcullis that protected the gateway was shut—a sign that not all was well in Erlkazar.
"Step aside!" shouted Whitman. "Make way for King Korox!"
The crowd, previously too preoccupied with the sight before them, now turned and parted. They bowed their heads, many dropping to one knee before the king.
Korox looked at each one of them as he passed, nodding his acknowledgment. He knew these people, some better than others, but he knew them. He had grown up with many of them, and had seen them have many emotions. He had watched them celebrate the new harvest, cry over the death of close friends, rejoice at the birth of a new child. But as he looked upon them now, he saw something new—he saw fear. He knew how they felt. And though it was comforting to know that he was not the only one afraid of the floating black citadel, he also knew that these people were looking to him to bring them safely through this time of uncertainty.
Reaching the portcullis, Korox gazed out between its rough iron bars at a huge black obelisk. Carved completely out of obsidian, the enormous stone stood three times the height of a man, and it rested now just on the other side of the drawbridge. Words, written in Common, were inscribed on its surface, but from where he stood, the king couldn't make out what they said.
Korox turned to the nearest palace guard. "How did this get here?"
The guard fumbled for the words. "It just... just... did, my lord."
"What do you mean, 'it just did?' It's a huge stone obelisk. Did it drop from the sky?"
The guard shook his head. "No, my lord. One moment, it wasn't there. Then as the sun rose over Shalane Lake, it... it just was."
"And you saw no one? No creatures, no soldiers, no wizards, no one appeared with it?"
"No, my king," replied the guard. "Only the obelisk."
The king nodded. "Well then, raise the portcullis," he ordered. "I want to get a better look."
The order echoed over the heads of the people, shouted from one guard to the next, until it was answered by the grinding of heavy chain. The huge metal gate that protected the entrance of the palace complained as it was lifted into the air. With each crank of the wooden gear, the portcullis drew higher, the pointed ends looking like the jaw of a gigantic beast, ready to chomp down on any who drew near.
The king didn't wait for it to reach its full height. Ducking under the partially open gate, he made his way down the drawbridge, into the early morning. The senator, Quinn, and Whitman all followed. Captain Kaden rushed to catch up, fastening the last few buckles of his plate mail as he shouldered his way through the crowd, joining the others as they left the palace.
As they drew closer, King Korox began to recognize the words inscribed on its surface. The chiseled letters only became legible when the light hit them at just the right angle, reflecting off the inner surface of the carving and casting the words in contrast to the darker stone. Drawing up to the edge of the obelisk, the king sidestepped, tilting his head to get the sun's early rays into the right position.
King Korox Morkann of Erlkazar,
Underestimate my power at your folly. Further resistance or acts of aggression will not be tolerated.
On the moon's rise in four days time, deliver to me your eldest daughter, Princess Mariko.
Sacrifice the princess, or you shall forfeit the lives of everyone in your kingdom.
Arch Magus Xeries
++++
Quinn caught the king under the arm, holding him up as his knees went weak.
In all the time he had been serving Korox Morkann, the Warrior King as many called him, he had never seen the man falter as he did now.
The king grabbed Quinn's shoulder with his other hand, steadying himself. "Where is my daughter?" he asked.
When no one answered, he repeated himself, this time more forcefully. "Where is my daughter?"
Captain Kaden echoed the king's concern. "Has anyone seen the princess?" He pointed to the closest palace guard. "You there. You were on duty this morning. When was the last time you saw the princess?"
The guard shook his head. "Not today."
"How about you?" shouted Kaden at one of his Magistrates. "Have you seen the princess?"
"No," replied the soldier. "Not since the black fortress arrived."
Quinn could tell the king was growing more and more alarmed. His eyes were beginning to narrow, and the edges of his lips were curled down, a sign that his initial shock was now turning to anger.
Straightening, King Korox took his weight off of Quinn. "Well, someone find my daughter. Right now!"
Every palace guard within earshot took off in a different direction. The crowd of gawking courtiers scattered—some helping to search for Princess Mariko, others just simply trying to get out of the way.
Captain Kaden lowered his head in a bow to the king. "With all due respect my lord, you don't plan to turn the princess over to that... that beast, do you?"
King Korox's voice boomed as he replied. "This is my daughter we're talking about here, son. I'd just as soon give up my own life than hers."
"Then what do you plan to do?" asked Senator Divian.
The senator always stood too close to the king for Quinn's comfort. She gripped his arm now, a look of stern disapproval on her face.
"You must be careful what you decide, Korox," she continued. "It is not just your daughter who is in danger. The lives of every man, woman, and child in Erlkazar are at stake here."
The king looked at her hand on his arm. The anger on his face had clearly not yet subsided. "This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion."
He raised his gaze to meet the senator's, his eyes narrowing as he did.
Quinn gripped the hilt of his sword, unnerved by the mounting tension between the king and his advisor.
Senator Divian relented, letting go of the king and nodding her understanding.
Korox turned to the head of the Magistrates. "Captain—"
Kaden cut him off before he could finish. "I'll find her, my lord." Then he took off into the palace at a full run.
Taking one last look at the stone obelisk, the king marched back into the great hall, leaving the senator by herself at the end of the drawbridge. Quinn followed behind.
The moment his foot touched the inside of the palace, King Korox began shouting.
"Mariko!" His words boomed as he stormed through the halls. "Mariko where are you?" No one else spoke. His unanswered calls echoed off the stone walls, making Klarsamryn seem cold and empty. "Mariko!"
"Perhaps we should split up, my lord," said Quinn.
Korox continued his march through the palace—a man obsessed, not slowing his pace.
"There are plenty of Magistrates here," continued Quinn. "I'm sure you will be safe while we search, and we can cover more ground if we're looking in separate places."
The king came to a stop. At the end of the hall, the man with the pointy beard and curled moustache had appeared— the man the king had called Vasser.
"No," replied the king, obviously preoccupied by the presence of the bearded stranger. "For now I need you by my side. Wait right here."
Korox left Quinn behind as he met with the mysterious messenger.
Vasser gave Quinn a wide smile, then he leaned in and whispered something into the king's ear. He talked for some time then pulled a piece of vellum from his pocket, unfolded it, and began pointing at several different points.
Torches behind Vasser and the king partially illuminated the vellum. Every time the shadow of Vasser's head lifted away, Quinn could see right through it. From what he could tell, it looked to be a map of the five baronies—Llorbauth in the center.
Vasser pointed to the docks, then to the south—maybe Duhlnarim? Then back again at Llorbauth. Whatever he had said caught the king by surprise, and Korox took a huge, unbalanced step back, his eyes wide with fear. Looking like a
toy soldier, his legs wooden and stiff, the king spun around on his heels, turned, and continued his march down the hall.
"Quinn!" he shouted over his shoulder, resuming his earlier pace. "With me!"
The king's bodyguard rushed to catch up, running past Vasser as he did. The man nodded and gave a small bow, his face the very picture of concern. This man was trouble, but Quinn had no time to deal with him now. Letting him go for the time being, he caught up with the king as he turned the corner.
It was obvious to Quinn that they were headed for Princess Mariko's chamber. Surely by now they had already been checked by the palace guard, but perhaps the king just needed to see for himself.
Barging through the door, the king stepped, into his daughter's room. On any other day, he would have knocked and announced himself, always very respectful of Mariko's privacy. But today was like no other day.
Inside, as Quinn had suspected, the princess's bed chamber was filled with palace guards and court functionaries.
"Where's Genevie?" shouted the king.
Everyone in the room came to a halt. The sudden appearance of a shouting king flustered them, and they tried with only varying degrees of success to follow courtly protocol. Several bowed. One man stumbled over a stool, seemingly blown backward by the sheer force of the king's words. But none of them answered his question.
"The princess's handmaiden!" shouted the king. "Have any of you seen her?"
Silence.
"Does anyone in this palace still have a tongue?" The king was growing more and more furious, his cheeks and forehead turning bright red. "Answer me." He took a menacing step toward the nearest palace guard.
"I... I haven't seen her, my lord." The guard dropped his eyes to the ground, cringing as if he might be struck.
"Has anyone seen her? Where is she?"
Everyone in the room shook their heads. No one knew.
The king flew back out into the hall to Genevie's bed chamber. Not bothering to stop, King Korox kicked the door in with the heel of his boot, drawing his sword as he crossed the threshold.
Quinn had never seen Korox pull his blade inside the palace. His heart pounding in his chest, the king's bodyguard quickly drew his own sword and bolted through the ruined door.
Unlike the princess's chamber, this room had no windows. There were no torches or candles lit, and the only light came in from the hallway. Leaping over a table, Quinn landed on the floor in front of the king, his blade out, ready for whatever it was that had caused the king to pull his sword.
But there was nothing. Genevie was not there, and the room appeared to have been unused for some time.
+
Chapter Ten
A full day had gone by, and no sign of the princess or her handmaiden. The king was beside himself. Mariko had never been missing for this long. She had spied on many of Erlkazar's most dangerous criminals, and the king knew of the potential danger when he sent her out. He worried about her each and every time he did so, but she was cautious, and every time before she had come back.
This time, however, he feared his daughter had been betrayed. The news from Vasser had been inconclusive, but with Mariko missing, he had nothing else to go on. For now there was little more he could do. He had teams scouring Llorbauth for his daughter. He had sent missives to his brother-in-law, Lord Purdun, and to each of the other barons, asking for their help in locating the missing princess and the handmaiden. He had even tripled the patrols around the palace. Outside of going to search for her himself, all he could do was wait for news.
In the meantime, he still had the Obsidian Ridge and a potential evacuation of Llorbauth to deal with.
"Lady Herrin to see King Korox Morkann," announced Whitman.
"As if I needed a reminder," he said under his breath. Lady Herrin, her clothing adorned with hundreds of tiny golden coins, jingled as she entered the audience chamber.
Her bodyguards, more heavily armed than Quinn, clanked along behind her.
Approaching the dais, she took one look at Whitman, smirked, then bowed to the king.
"Lady Herrin," said the king, "to what do we owe today's visit?
"My lord," replied the merchant, "I came as soon as I got word of your daughter's disappearance. Have you found her? Is she safely back in the palace?"
The king was caught off guard by the old woman's concern for his family. "That is very kind of you to ask, Lady Herrin." He smiled at her, feeling a sudden new warmth for someone who before today had been nothing but a pain in his side. "But I'm afraid the princess is still missing. I cannot tell you how difficult it has been for me—"
"Well what are you going to do about that black fortress floating over Llorbauth? Everyone is afraid to leave their homes. And all this talk of evacuating the city to Five Spears Hold is killing my business. If you cannot find your daughter, then how will you turn her over to this Magus Xeries?"
The king was stunned silent.
"Well?" the old merchant bellowed. "I expect an answer. You can't just sit here while the rest of us go broke. You have a responsibility—"
Lifting himself slowly to his feet, the king reached his full height before speaking. "Get out of my chambers, before I have you thrown in the dungeon!" He pointed to the doors, speaking this last word through gritted teeth. He came down two steps, drawing closer to Lady Herrin. "Your words and actions are a thinly veiled attempt to undermine me—and I will not tolerate it." He took another step, coming up to the merchant's face, looking her right in the eye. "I am the King of Erlkazar, and you will respect my authority, or you will face the consequences. Have I made myself clear?"
Lady Herrin stumbled back a step, and her bodyguards pulled their swords.
The entire room erupted in the sound of metal grinding on metal as Quinn and forty Magistrates drew steel and converged on the armed men. In moments Lady Herrin's men had been disarmed and slammed to the floor, held to the ground by their necks, surrounded by the points of more than three dozen blades.
King Korox continued, seemingly unfazed by the commotion. "How dare you come into my house and make demands of me during this time of crisis. How dare you weigh the loss of your profits on the same scale as the life of my daughter."
Lady Herrin stood before the king with a look of offended horror on her face. Korox scowled back at her.
"Get out," spat Korox, "or you will have much more than floating citadels and slumping sales to worry about." ,
With that, the king turned, walked up the dais, and sat down on his throne.
"Good day, Lady Herrin." He nodded at Quinn. "Let them up."
Quinn pulled back and ordered the other men to step away from the downed bodyguards. The Magistrates gave the merchant and her entourage a wide berth, but they kept their swords drawn.
Lady Herrin, her lip curled up in disgust, continued to glare at the king. "You will not get away with speaking to me like that, Korox. This is not over. You will be sorry."
"Confiscate their weapons and escort them to the gate," ordered the king. "Inform the guards that they are not allowed back into the palace without a personal summons from me or Senator Divian." The king paused. "And be quick about it. We have real business to attend to."
Jingling as she spun, the old merchant and her bodyguards were physically removed from the audience chamber by a host of Magistrates.
Quinn placed his sword back in its scabbard and approached the throne.
"Are you all right, my lord?"
King Korox put his head in his hands and let out a large sigh. "No, Quinn," he said. "I do not think I am."
"Well, for what it's worth, the men have had a bet going for some time."
The king looked up. "A bet? What does that have to do with anything?"
Quinn smiled. "They've been wagering how long it would take you to have that old bag hauled out of here."
The king chuckled. "Who won?"
"No one," replied the bodyguard, his smile growing wider. "We all thought you'd have done it ages ago."
Just then the doors to the throne room burst open again, and Captain Kaden came marching in.
The king stood, unable to contain himself. "Captain, what news of the princess?"
Kaden approached the throne, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, my king, I have not been able to locate her."
The king slumped back down. His wife had died only a few tendays after he had taken the throne. He would never get used to his life without her. The only comfort he had been able to find was that he still had his daughter. Mariko was all he had left, and now she too had been taken from him.
It wasn't fair. He was the king. There were so many things he could control. But the disease that had taken his wife was not one of them. And now the princess was missing, and he didn't know where to look or even for sure who to blame. What good was being the Warrior King if he didn't have an enemy to fight?
"I am truly sorry, my lord," continued Kaden. "The effort is in full force. I have my best men out looking for her right now. And I pledge to you that I will continue my personal search tirelessly until we find her. Do not lose hope. I will bring Princess Mariko home safely."
The king nodded. "Yes, Captain, I'm sure you will."
"But, my lord, I have not come here to discuss your daughter. I have other news."
The king was puzzled. "And what would that be?"
"The Obsidian Ridge, my lord. It's on the move."
The king leaped from the dais and dashed for the steps that led up to his private chambers. The balcony that had provided him with the perfect view of the Llorbauth valley now had become the best vantage point to track the black citadel that menaced the city.
"Quinn, Kaden, with me!" the king shouted as he charged up the stairs.
The men followed their king, and all three arrived at the top, winded from the climb.
Dashing to the open doors, the king stepped out onto the veranda to see the Obsidian Ridge slowly drifting to the east. It had moved several acres since last he had set eyes upon it. The shadow it cast over the valley had moved directly over the docks.
"In the name of Torm, what is it going to do now?" King Korox rubbed his forehead as he wondered aloud at what new horror his kingdom was on the brink of experiencing.
The floating castle drifted out over Shalane Lake, then came to a complete stop. Everyone in the king's chamber held their breath as they watched, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
But nothing did. The Obsidian Ridge remained hovering in the air, the edges of its jagged exterior gleaming pitch black in the late morning sun.
+++++
The room went silent as the Matron entered. She had been in deep contemplation over these recent developments, and she had finally come to some conclusions.
It was time to share her thoughts with the rest of the council.
All the prominent members of the Erlkazarian underworld were present, and they sat around a long oval table at the center of the dark room. There were no windows, no connection at all to the outside world, only the weak light of mage-lit stones arranged in candelabra on the table. The floor of the room was sunken, the center where the table sat was several steps down from where someone would enter. And the walls were built of thick stone, thicker than many of the castles in this part of Faerûn.
The doors that led into the chamber were built from solid steel. It took the strength of four men to pull them open or slam them closed. At the moment, all of them—except the one leading to the Matron's private study—were shut and locked. If someone had cared to try to exit through the study, they would have found that there was no physical or magical way out. The walls were built of the same stone as the rest of the room, and the magical wards that protected the area from scrying also protected it from the spells and artifacts that allowed wizards to walk through stone or solid materials.
The Matron stepped down into the center of the room and, adjusting the veil across her face, took her seat at the head of the table. Around the outside of the main chamber, arranged along the walls like ornamental statues, were three dozen armed bodyguards. The men and women seated at this table all had at least one thing in common—they took their personal safety very seriously.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," said the Matron. "We have many things to discuss."
A chorus of grumbled agreement filled the room.
The Matron raised her hand and the room fell silent again. "By now you have heard that the master of the Obsidian Ridge has made a demand of the king." She slowly moved her gaze over each and every member of the underworld present before her. "That he turn over his daughter, or Erlkazar will be destroyed."
Again grumbling.
"Even if the king were willing to make such a sacrifice, he is, as you all know, unable to do so at this very moment," said the Matron.
"Then we should make his life easy and turn over the princess for him," shouted a burly, bearded half-ore at the far end of the table.
The comment brought a number of laughs and a small round of agreement.
"I'm afraid that is impossible," said the Matron. "The princess is no longer within our reach."
A tall, dark-haired woman wearing a gown that appeared to be laced in the front with thick spider's silk stood up from her chair. "What do you mean, she's no longer within our reach? Did you lose her?"
The Matron bristled at the accusation. "We did not lose her."
"If you did not lose her, then where is she?" pressed the dark-haired woman.
"I have told you," said the Matron in a calm, even voice. "She is outside of our reach."
"Why would you let this happen? Did you not have a plan for using her to our advantage?"
The Matron smiled. "Of course I did."
"Then perhaps you can explain," responded the spider woman, "how she can be of use to us if she is outside of our reach?"
The Matron took a deep breath and then lifted herself out of her chair. The mage-lit stones on the table flared then subsided, making the room seem darker than it was before. The woman in the spider-silk gown quickly glanced around the table. None of the other invitees would make eye contact with her. Looking at the Matron, she bowed her head and sat down.
"The princess was merely a way for us to manipulate the king," she started, clearly pleased by her display of power.
"His recent involvement in the Elixir trade has begun to take its toll on our profits. The kidnapping of the princess was a message to the king. Any further meddling in our affairs will not be tolerated. If he wants to hit us where it hurts, then we will do the very same to him. No one is safe. No one is outside of our reach, not even the Warrior King, Korox Morkann."
"But things have changed, Matron," said a dark-skinned man near her end of the table. He spoke respectfully, but loud enough for the others to hear. "There is more at stake now. The Obsidian Ridge threatens all of Erlkazar. It threatens all of our businesses and our lives."
"He is right," agreed another man at the far end of the table. "If Erlkazar is destroyed, who will we sell to? Surely we must change our course."
The Matron balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. She glared at the collection of underworld figures, daring them with her eyes to challenge her again. When no one spoke, she continued.
"The appearance of the black citadel has only strengthened our ploy," she explained. "Not only do we have something the king dearly wants back, but now he has further pressure to negotiate with us in a timely fashion."
"But Matron," said the dark-skinned man, "you said the princess is outside of our reach. How can we negotiate with the king if we no longer have what he wants?"
The Matron smiled. "But we do have what he wants. We tell him that we have his daughter. That the only way he will get her back and save his entire kingdom is for him to grant our businesses protection above the law. We will tell him he will get his daughter back when he has not only given us his blessing but also his good name as endorsement to our Elixir."
"This is preposterous." The spider woman stood up again. "First you tell us the princess is not in our possession, then you tell us she is. You keep talking in circles. But even if you do have her, what's stopping the king from going back on his
word once he has what he wants? There is only one way to keep the seat of power in line—fear. We must assassinate the king, turn his daughter over to the master of the Obsidian Ridge, and reap the benefits of the panic that ensues."
This brought grumbles of agreement around the table.
"Yes, she is right," said an elderly man sitting next to her. "The king and his line must be taught a lesson. The damage they have done to our Elixir operations cannot go unpunished."
"The king is useful to us alive," said the Matron. "We know him, and we know how to manipulate him. If we kill King Korox, another man will sit on that throne, and we will know nothing of him. We will not waste the valuable knowledge we have now simply because it gives us a shortsighted gain."
"We cannot sit here and do nothing," replied the spider woman. "At the very least the Magistrates and their nightly raids must be stopped."
The Matron shook her head. "The Magistrates we can handle. It's the Claw we need to worry about."
Simply mentioning the Claw inside this chamber seemed blasphemous.
The spider woman slammed her fist against the table. "But surely we must do something about the—"
The Matron cut her off. "Do not cross me," she said. She pointed her finger at the woman. "Up until this point I have been lenient with all of you, but my patience is beginning to fray." She pressed her chair away, the legs grinding across the floor as she forced it back. "You do not need to know everything at this moment. For now, it is enough that you are aware of my wishes." She shook her finger, a mother warning her children. "The king is not to be harmed unless I give the word. We will use him and his daughter the way I have intended. Is that understood?"
The figures around the room nodded their understanding.
Gathering her purple robes around her, the Matron walked up the steps. "This meeting is over." Turning as she got to the edge of her private study, she looked down upon the prominent underworld figures. "You shall be summoned when I wish to tell you more."
With the wave of her hand, the doors of her study slammed closed, and the locks on the heavy doors that led out of the room dropped open.

Chapter Eleven
Quinn watched the king pace back and forth across the sitting room floor. Each time he crossed in front of the open balcony doors, he would look out at the obsidian- citadel floating over the water, just outside of the docks. It was as if the man thought that maybe, just maybe, if he willed it to be, the whole thing would simply disappear.
Despite his best efforts, the Obsidian Ridge didn't budge.
The sound of footsteps drifted up the stone stairway, adding their rhythm to that of the king's pacing. Then the guest who belonged to the footsteps arrived—unannounced—inside the king's sitting room.
"King Korox," said Senator Divian, barging into the room, "might I have a word with you?"
Quinn stepped between her and the king, blocking her path. He didn't go for his weapon, but he left himself enough room to grab it if the need arose.
The senator pulled up short. "What is this?" She looked past Quinn to the king.
Quinn didn't budge. "I'm sorry, Senator," he said, raising his hands to make it clear he meant her no offense, "but you came in unannounced. I'm afraid I'm going to have to search you for weapons." He took a step closer. "Please lift your hands over your head. This won't take but a moment."
The senator took a step away from him. "You will not lay a finger on me." Her voice dropped very low. "Touch me, and you will regret it."
"Quinn," the king said. "It's fine. The senator can be trusted."
"I'm sure you are right, my lord," replied Quinn, not backing down. "Senator Divian is without a doubt above reproach, and I give her my sincerest apology. But since we have a magical fortress floating outside our window, illusions and doppelgangers are not outside of the realm of possibility."
The senator dropped her hands and stood up straight, tugging the front of her robe down and tightening her cloth belt. "Yes, of course," she said, clearly miffed at having her trustworthiness called into question, but also seemingly swayed by Quinn's argument.
"I will not touch you," continued Quinn, running a hand through his blond hair, "but perhaps the senator could humor me by answering a few quick questions." He took a step back, toward the king, and tried to smile. "Just to let us know that you are indeed who you... well, are."
Senator Divian crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "Very well," she said. "Ask your questions."
"When did King Korox's wife die?"
"That's common knowledge," she said, glancing at the king. "Just after he took the throne."
"Yes," replied Quinn. "And what did she die from?"
The senator, a little taken back by the question, gave Quinn a sideways look. "That... that too is well known," she said. "She contracted a rare and difficult to treat disease, which ultimately proved to be fatal."
Quinn nodded. "Yes, and how did she contract it?"
Senator Divian uncrossed her arms. Her posture seemed to soften, as if she were saddened by this line of questioning. "She was... she was doing research, at my behest, in the catacombs just outside of Dajaan." Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her
shoulders slumped. "We never learned what she contracted it from."
Quinn stepped aside. "I am sorry for bringing up such painful memories, Senator. Please forgive me." He bowed to her, and took a position at the edge of the room.
Senator Divian nodded but didn't say anything.
After a moment, the king crossed to her and touched her on the shoulder. "Perhaps we should talk in my private chambers," he said.
Nodding her agreement, she followed him out of the sitting room.
+++++
King Korox closed the double doors that led into his private chambers and turned to face the senator.
"I apologize for Quinn," he said. "We're all very much on edge with this... thing hanging over our heads. He is no exception."
Senator Divian took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. "Can I ask you a question?"
The king nodded. "Of course."
"Do you blame me for the death of your wife?"
King Korox was stunned by her candor. "How can you think that?"
"It's just that—" She shook her head. "It's nothing." She wrapped her arms around Korox's waist and laid her head on his chest.
The king returned her embrace. "She knew the dangers of going into the catacombs. And she went willingly. I do not blame you for anything."
The senator looked up at the king and smiled. "I just didn't want to think that..." She paused, looking into his eyes.
Korox leaned down and kissed the senator, cutting off the end of her thought.
"Thank you," she said, releasing the king from her
embrace. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I just feel a little awkward. Though it is not common knowledge to most people that your late wife was helping me with research, it is common knowledge to you. I would hate it if you thought my actions were responsible for you losing your wife."
"Do you think I would invite you into my private chambers if I did?"
She shook her head. "No. I do not think you would." Turning away from the king, she strolled to the other side of the room—to the other doors that led out to the private terrace. Throwing them open, she looked out at the forest and the roads beyond, leading south.
Korox watched her as she moved. "But now I have a question for you."
"And what is that?"
"Do you think it is too soon?"
The senator looked back at the king. "Too soon for what?"
"Too soon for us?" he said. "The queen has been gone for less than a year. I don't wish to betray her memory."
"I think the queen would not want you to be alone," replied JDivian. "I like to think she would approve—that she would have picked me to look after you in the event of her death."
"Do I really need that much looking after?" he said, chuckling.
The senator turned back to the view, nodding. "Oh yes. More than you know."
The king came up behind and placed his arms around her. "From here you can't even see the Obsidian Ridge. If only this were the case in every window of the palace."
"Have you thought about what you are going to do?" she asked. "When you find Princess Mariko?"
The king sighed. "You mean if I find Princess Mariko," he said. "It's been two days, and still not a sign of her."
The senator continued to look out at the view, talking
over her shoulder. "Either way, if you're not going to give this Magus Xeries what he wants, then we need to prepare our alternatives." She turned around.
"And what do you think those are?" He curled up his fist, unfurling one finger. "Fight? Our army is useless against such a foe." He unfurled a second. "Flee? The evacuation plans are progressing as fast as they can. Still, I'm not even Sure we can move everyone far enough away to avoid his wrath." The king lifted a third finger. "We've already tried negotiating." He threw both hands in the air. "What else is there?"
"Magic," she replied.
The king shook his head. "We don't even know the true extent of this man's power yet. For all we know, he's not even cast his first spell."
"Perhaps," she replied. "But I've been thinking. What if all of this is just parlor tricks meant to scare us into submission?"
The king gave her a forced smiled. "I know what you are trying to do." He touched Divian on the shoulder and let his fingers slide down her arm. "But while downplaying the power of the Obsidian Ridge may comfort me in the short term, the simple fact of the matter is that we both know Xeries means what he says. You yourself said there are powerful wards protecting the black mountain from magical spying and infiltration. If you can't break through, then I'm afraid there is no one in Erlkazar who can."
Divian squeezed his hand, trying to smile back. "Yes, there is powerful magic surrounding that place. But what we do not know is if Xeries put them there himself, or if they are the result of artifacts he possesses."
The king tilted his head. "Even so, just to possess such things must mean he has some power. At the very least he is tremendously resourceful."
"True," said Divian. "But so far, all we've seen him do is make a stone obelisk appear out of thin air. An apprentice wizard could do that."
The king shook his head. "Divian, you can give up on this now. Your effort is appreciated, but I know you don't believe that. It would be foolish to underestimate this man—if he is indeed a man—after what we saw happen to that unit of soldiers. And you are not fool."
"I am just worried about you. That's all," she replied. "Even kings need hope."
"Yes, we do. And I thank you for recognizing that," replied Korox. "But to muster enough magical force to drive Xeries out of here, even if he isn't as powerful as we think... it would require us to gather nearly every mage in Llorbauth, and then some. We'd be dealing with magical forces that quite frankly haven't been mustered since the Time of Troubles."
"While I will admit that I did come here to lift your spirits, I am not entirely convinced that my idea is without merit." She slipped her hand around his waist again. "Gathering the spellcasters—a convocation of mages—is not a bad plan. Besides, what other choice do you have?"
+
Chapter Twelve
The burlap sack slipped from Princess Mariko's head. A dim corridor, lit by fading mage-lit stones, came into view. The walls and floor were slick and damp, and the air smelled of mold and dry blood.
Finally managing to chew through the cloth gag her captors had tied around her mouth, the princess spat the remnants to the floor.
"You'll never get away with this," she growled. Her hands were tied at the wrist behind her back. Greasy lowlifes surrounded her on all sides, their sickly complexions looking jaundiced from the glow of the torches they carried. Though she didn't know the names of these people, she recognized their faces from her nighttime visits to the docks.
"Oh, no?" said the man leading the way through the dingy hall.
"No," she snarled. Mariko did, however, know the name of the man who led them—Jallal Tasca. "And aren't you supposed to be dead?"
Jallal stopped and spun on his hooves. Pushing his way through his guards, he put his face right in front of hers; so close Mariko could smell the boiled ham on his breath, pieces still stuck between his sharpened teeth.
"And where'd you learn that?" Jallal balled up his hairy fists, biting off each word as it rolled out of his mouth. "From
your lover perhaps? Did the Claw tell you that?"
Mariko was momentarily stunned. "What are you talking about?" Her words were unconvincing, even to herself.
Jallal smiled. "Surprised that we know about your little romance? Did you think you could keep it a secret forever?"
A large rat scurried through the rubbish littering the hallway. It squeaked as it traversed the long, pockmarked wall, sniffing everything twice as it passed but finding nothing worth its time in the piles of discarded refuse. It disappeared around a long, curving corner.
The princess watched the rat until it slipped out of view, then she looked back at Jallal. She pointed toward the rat with her chin. "Friend of yours?"
"Laugh it up, Princess." Jallal turned away and resumed leading his group down the hall. "You don't have long to live anyway. Might as well enjoy what little time you have left."
The group started to move again, and one of the guards behind the princess prodded her forward with the flat edge of his sword. She stumbled a bit, not ready for the shove, but quickly caught her balance.
"You're going to pay for this, Jallal," she said. "I'm going to get out of here."
"I'm sure you are, Princess. I'm sure you are." Jallal's words dripped with sarcasm.
The princess tugged on her bonds as she walked. They were tight, and she couldn't budge. "And when I do, I'm going to hunt you down like the mongrel you are." As her frustration rose, she spoke through her teeth, each word growing louder and more intense. "And I'm going to personally flay the skin from your body, piece by piece."
This last bit made everyone cringe.
"So un-princess like," taunted Jallal. "And who's going to get you out of here? Hmm? Is the Claw going to come to your rescue?"
"I don't need anyone to rescue me," she said. "I'll get myself out." She struggled with her bonds, feeling the rope
loosen a bit with her repeated movements. "Besides, if you think you can catch the Claw by using me as bait, then you've sorely underestimated both of us."
Jallal chuckled. "I hate to damage your self image, Princess. But you're just one small piece of the puzzle."
The hallway took a long, sloping curve to the right and headed downward. The group came upon the rat, still searching through the refuse on the ground. Its little nose bobbed up and down, as it sniffed its surroundings. Then suddenly, it stopped, sitting back onto its hind legs and clawing at the air.
"What's its problem?" said the guard behind Princess Mariko.
A large dark splotch suddenly peeled away from the wall and fell to the ground. The dimly lit hallway made it difficult to determine what was happening, and at first, Mariko thought it was just a piece of loose stone or a large patch of moss on the damp rock that had lost its grip and was sloughing off onto the floor. Then that piece of moss unfolded to twice its original size, and snapped tight, wrapping itself around the rat like a thick rug.
"Cloakers!" shouted one of the guards.
The ceiling and walls seemed to melt. What had appeared as only shadows in the dark corridor, dripped away from the stone, unfurling and falling on the group.
The cloakers looked like huge bats, but instead of little ratlike bodies with ears, claws, and tails, they were all wing and teeth. Unfurled, some were easily twice the size of a man, and they descended on the hallway, blanketing anything they touched and wrapping it up.
Princess Mariko dropped to her knees, ducking under the huge wings of one of these beasts. The guard behind her was not as quick, and he disappeared underneath the creature's embrace.
"Get it off me! Get it off me!" The man squealed as he struggled to get free. The cloakers black body stretched around
the guard, distending with each punch and elbow the man threw.
Two of the other guards had been wrapped up in similar fashion. One had been caught around the legs, and she swung on the creature, a dagger in each hand, slicing into the beast's flesh but seemingly making no progress in getting it to let her go. The second was completely consumed by the cloaker, his muffled screams indicating that he wasn't faring well either.
Jallal and three of his henchmen had managed to avoid being caught. They were free but preoccupied with trying to stay that way as four other cloakers flapped around them in the hallway.
Mariko didn't wait around to see how it turned out. Not even bothering to get up, the princess somersaulted forward, hugging the wall and tumbling right past the fight. Coming up on her feet, she didn't look back, dropping her head and sprinting down the corridor.
"After her!" Mariko heard Jallal scream as she disappeared deeper down the hall.
His words were like a gust of wind, pushing her along with their urgency. Mariko picked up speed as she ran the gently downward sloping passage. Her lungs burned and her legs ached, but she kept going, knowing that every step took her farther from her captors and that much nearer to escape. The walls drew in closer as the hallway spiraled down, and the light grew dimmer—the mage-lit stones were fewer and farther between here, and in several places it looked as if they had burned out or broken, leaving long sections of near-complete blackness.
Each time she hit one of these dark patches, the princess cringed and silently prayed to Helm to keep her safe. If she were to run into another hive of cloakers there would be little she could do to defend herself. Her hands were still tied behind her back, and though she could probably cast a spell, she would have to do it without looking. She really didn't want to have to fight a cloaker by turning her back on it.
Coming around the next corner, the passage straightened out and widened into sort of a crossroads—four passages heading off in opposite directions. Without even thinking, Mariko took a hard left and ran down another short hall, then into a much larger room. Dozens of square pillars, each a few paces apart, held up the high ceiling.
Dashing into the corner, Princess Mariko dropped into a crouch and stopped to catch her breath. The room was quite dark. What little light there was-—weak and purple—seemed to come from a long, sprawling crack in the ceiling, maybe twenty or thirty feet up. The pillars cast shadows across each other, filling the space with a crisscross of long, jagged shapes.
There was a strange feeling in this place. It was a sort of hopelessness, punctuated by a burning anxiety that it might be worse to live in a place like this than to simply die here. There had been a burlap sack over her head ever since she had woken up from that night in the slaughterhouse. But she knew when they had brought her to this place—wherever it was—because she had been filled with that terrible feeling the moment she arrived.
Leaning her back against the wall, Mariko took several large breaths, trying to calm and quiet herself. She tugged against the rope holding her hands together. It was loosening, but not enough to get her hands free. She was going to need something to cut through her bonds. Letting herself slip to the ground, she felt around and found a small stone. Gripping it in one hand, she touched it with the fingers of her other.
Closing her eyes, she spoke a few words, quietly, under her breath. Getting back to her feet, she tossed the stone to the ground. It glowed brightly where she dropped it, and the corner filled with a yellow-orange light.
The flagstones and bricks were worn and pockmarked. The surface of one whole wall was marred by long, irregular grooves. They looked as if they were scratch marks—the last remaining evidence of some clawed beast that had been
cornered here and had tried to dig its way out. "Just what I needed."
The jagged bits of stone that had been torn away from the wall lay in dusty piles in the corner, and Mariko kicked at them, looking for one she could use. Finding one to her liking, she pushed the sharp chunk away from the others and sat down next to it, so she could reach. Then she went to work, sawing away the hemp that held her wrists together.
As she worked, a series of light tapping sounds began on the far side of the room. They came in irregular patterns, slower at first, then quicker and more frequently. The noises echoed off the walls, bouncing around between the pillars. Mariko couldn't be sure exactly where the sounds originated, but wherever they were, they were in the room with her.
Quickening her sawing motion, she gave her bonds another yank. The fibers that held her wrists slipped, and the rope snapped. Her hands were free, and Princess Mariko hopped to her feet, grabbing up the magically lit stone as she did.
Stepping out of the corner, she put her back to the closest pillar, taking cover from whatever was making the clicking noises. Peeking out from around the edge, Princess Mariko tossed the stone into the middle of the room. The glowing rock bounced to a stop atop a huge circular flagstone. The darkness peeled back from where it landed, revealing the rest of the chamber. The pillars radiated out from this single large stone, reaching for the walls and corners as they lined up across the room. Other piles of dusty stone littered the ground—each at the base of a pillar.
Despite the extra light, the princess couldn't find what was making the clicking sounds, and they continued, growing louder and more regular. They filled the whole room, seemingly surrounding her on all sides. Whatever it was that was making them was closing in.
Pressing herself against the pillar as tight as she could, she gripped the jagged stone she had used to cut herself free in
one hand like a dagger, ready to fight. The light on the wall, cast by her magically lit stone, grew long spindly shadows. The clicking noises slowed, coming now from the opposite side of her pillar.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
The princess held her breath, and a tingle ran down her spine, as something cold and thin touched her hair and brushed against the back of her neck. Turning her head, Mariko swallowed hard as she gazed down on the brown, hairy tip of a giant spider's leg. It was hugging the pillar with all eight legs, each easily long enough to wrap around the huge stone column.
Slowly turning sideways, the princess reached back and grabbed her hair, pulling it away from the spider's leg that held it pinned against the pillar. Once free, she took one huge step away and spun around. With the pillar between her and most of the spider, Mariko could only see the creature's legs and the parts of its bulbous body that stuck out from the sides of the stone column. The spider was easily four times her height. Gripping the pillar as it was, its back legs touched the floor—its front legs easily reaching the crack in the ceiling.
Staying as close to the wall as she could, Princess Mariko moved deeper into the room. She figured if she could get to the next pillar, she could zigzag her way across to the other side, keeping herself concealed from the hairy beast. She didn't know what she'd find when she got there, but it couldn't be much worse than what she had here.
Two quick steps, and she turned around another pillar— right into the face of a second massive spider. The creature was already standing on the ground. It was so big it didn't quite fit between the stone columns. Two of its legs were bent back, touching the pillars on either side, its body tilted. Any other beast would have looked encumbered, maybe even trapped in such a situation. But the spider only looked like it was at home, wedged in the confined space, its legs pulled back ready to pounce. Slime dripped from the beast's fangs,
as they worked their way up and down in anticipation inside the creature's huge mouth.
Mariko held her hands up, and started to back away. "Nice spider," she said.
Spinning around again, she bolted even deeper into the room. She got maybe four or five good steps before being knocked down from behind, her legs pulled out from under her by the spider's spindly limbs. Falling to the floor, Mariko held her arms out to catch herself and skidded across the stone.
Scrambling to get back to her feet, the tapping sound began again, filling her ears and making her skin crawl. Halfway up, Mariko was knocked sideways. She rolled onto her back, up against the wall. A huge spider leg came down on her shoulder, pinning her to the floor. She whipped the jagged stone in her hand around, taking a large gash out of the creature's leg. The thick, natural armor made a popping sound as it crushed under her blow. A thin, reddish-brown fluid gushed out of the newly formed wound, splashing across the princess's shoulder.
If the spider was affected by the blow, it didn't show it. Another-of its legs came down on the princess's other arm. The tips of the beast's legs were sharp, and they dug into Mariko's flesh, holding her in place from the sharp pain. The princess let out a yelp. She didn't want to, but the weight of the spider pushing the sharp ends of its legs into her arm and shoulder was excruciating. She squirmed to get free, but it was no use. She was stuck.
The spider quickly skittered out from between the pillars, using its other six legs to pen Mariko. It positioned its fat, round body over hers and lowered it onto her stomach. The weight of the creature nearly crushed the princess, and she struggled to breathe. Letting up on its front legs, the beast held the princess in place with just its own gargantuan abdomen. It looked down on her with its eight beady eyes.
Mariko grabbed at the wall and the floor, trying to pull
herself free, but she couldn't get a good grip. The stones were worn smooth by the claws and nails of earlier victims. All she could get her hands on were two piles of dusty, broken stone, lying at the base of the wall and beside the nearest pillar. With each failed attempt, the princess grew more frantic.
The first spider climbed down, wedging itself now between the wall and another pillar—facing Mariko and the spider that held her down. With the exception of the tapping of their legs against the stone, neither of the beasts had made any noise. Now they both began to make a high-pitched hiss. A thick, stringy substance that looked purple in the dull light of the room, dripped from the spiders' fangs, splashing in small puddles on the floor beside the trapped princess.
Mariko swung her broken bit of stone again, catching the spider right in the mouth, breaking away one of its fangs. The sharpened bone clanked as it hit the floor and skidded off into the darkness. The creature let out an angry screech that echoed throughout the room. It flailed around, clearly unhappy, then reared back and dived for the princess, burying its other fang into her neck.
Mariko screamed. She beat at the creature's face with her fists, but it was no use. She could feel the poison pumping into her body. Her head started to float, and her arms felt heavy. Her legs and stomach cramped up, and she tried to curl into a ball.
Looking up, the spider's eyes seemed to waver, and the dim light in the room flickered.
Her body went limp, and she laid her arms on the ground beside her, unable to struggle any further.
"Claw," she said. "Please... please..."
With her last bit of strength, she reached to her neck, gripping the locket the Claw had given her, and undid the clasp.
+++++
"Where in the Nine Hells could she be?" Jallal Tasca growled. This was not going well.
First the cloakers, then the princess escaped. What else could go wrong?
Coming around a bend in the hallway, Jallal and his guards stepped into an open room—a crossroads with passages leading off in four different directions.
He threw his hands in the air. "Any guesses?"
He turned to look at the others who accompanied him. None of them had been seriously hurt in the cloaker attack, but they just stared at him, not responding, clearly unhappy about their current situation.
The scream came from the hallway to the left.
Jallal lifted his sword and bolted toward the sound. "Come with me!"
At the end of the passage the group entered a high ceilinged room, awash in a pale purple light. Against the right wall, a pair of huge spiders faced each other, hunched over something—or someone.
Drawing closer, Jallal came around a large stone pillar to see the limp body of Princess Mariko, pinned to the ground by a huge spider's fang.
"Damn," cursed Jallal, his anger starting to rise. "The Matron is not going to be happy about this."

Chapter Thirteen
We're all going to die," Whitman muttered as he left the palace, heading down the darkened road toward the docks. He clasped his hands together, fidgeting with them on the long walk. "We're all going to be eaten, torn to shreds by those... those vile... disgusting... repulsive... repugnant... unseemly... dirty... hairy beasts." His knuckles were white from his own grip, and his palms were damp with worried sweat.
As he went, his mind wandered through all the terrible, disgusting ways a man could be killed. Torn to shreds by slavering, diseased beasts ranked pretty high. He relived the scene in his head, watching from afar, as he had, the death of the entire unit of soldiers who had approached the Obsidian Ridge. He didn't want to end up like one of them. He didn't want anyone else to end up like that either.
Crossing over from the dirt and stone road onto the wooden slats of the wharf, Whitman wrapped his cloak tighter around his chest. It was not particularly cold here. In fact, the damp air coming off the water was quite refreshing on a warm, spring evening. But something about the docks always gave Whitman the shivers.
Down a few blocks, he turned into a darkened dead-end alley. At the end was a single, wooden door with a plaque attached to it. On the plaque was the relief carving of a
woman, her long hair flowing around her face, a tiara on her head—the symbol for the temple of Waukeen.
Knocking on the door, the king's scribe waited, his eyes darting around the shadows, nervously watching, assuming someone was waiting in ambush in every corner. After a few moments, the latch on the other side slid noisily across the wood, and the door opened.
"What are you doing here?" asked a voice from the dark interior.
"I'm here to see the Matron," Whitman said in a stern voice. "Let me in."
The door swung wide, the burly guard stepped aside, and the king's scribe was allowed in.
Three armed men stood in the hall. One shut the door while the other two searched Whitman, patting him down for weapons.
"Believe me," he said, as they checked under his cloak, "there is nothing to find. Even if I had a weapon, you'd still all be safe."
The men finished their search and left him be. "He's got nothing."
Whitman adjusted himself, annoyed by the intrusion. "I wouldn't know how to use it anyway."
"Go inside," said the guard who had opened the door. "I'll let the Matron know you are here."
Whitman did as he was told, heading down the corridor and descending a long set of steps. He had never been inside this building before, but he had heard the stories. The meetings of the underworld council took place here. For a criminal, this was a sort of a holy shrine. Every infamous figure in the Erlkazar underworld was said to have walked down these steps. Several had even died here—killed as a punishment for wronging another member of the council, or perhaps for simply disappointing the Matron.
At the base of the stairs, four guards waited. As Whitman approached, they took hold of one huge steel door, and
together they pulled it open. The heavy hinges groaned as they rotated and let the metal door swing wide.
Whitman nodded to the men as he stepped through the doorway. A huge, wooden table dominated the inside of the room. Mage-lit stones sat in sconces on either end and in the middle, filling the chamber with cold, bluish-white light. The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang, and Whitman stepped down from the entrance to the middle of the room.
Besides the table, the chairs, and the sconces, there was nothing else in the room, except four huge metal doors—three that led out to the corridor where Whitman had just come from, and another on the opposite side of the room. That door swung open, smooth and silent, and out stepped a woman, a tight purple robe adorning her body, a veil over her face.
She stepped down into the room, the only noise of her passage the light brushing of her hem against the stone floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a seat at the far end.
"We have to talk," replied Whitman.
"You compromise yourself by coming."
"I'm aware of the consequences," replied Whitman. "But the situation is growing dire. We're running out of time."
The Matron tapped her fingers against the wood table. "This is why you came to me?"
"Matron, we are gambling with the lives of everyone in Erlkazar. We must turn over Princess Mariko, and we must do it now."
The Matron stood. "I am aware of the situation, Whitman. But I disagree with your assessment."
"Then you are blinded by your greed. We are risking too much. The stakes have gotten too high."
"You're overreacting."
"You saw what happened to the soldiers the king sent out to negotiate with the Obsidian Ridge."
"I know what happened."
"Are you prepared to let that happen to all of us? Never mind the Elixir business. Are you willing to lose every one of your followers? Every one of your associates? Every customer in the kingdom?"
"There are risks with every venture," replied the Matron. "But there are rewards too."
"What reward? What is all of this worth to us?"
The Matron took a deep breath. "Freedom," she replied. "The freedom to run our trade the way we want to, without the meddling of the monarchy." She thought for a moment. "And for control. The right to control our own destinies and marketplace without interference."
"You risk all of this for a little bit of freedom? For the ability to run our business without the fear of reprisal?"
"Don't be so shortsighted." The Matron slammed her fist against the table. "Some of the largest conflicts in the history of this world have been over freedom. What we're talking about here—it's not just about a little more breathing room, or even about greed. It's about the future. It's about establishing a foothold here in Erlkazar, where we cannot only run our businesses, but also decide what rules we live by. Us. Ourselves. Not some silver-spoon-fed monarch who did nothing more to earn the right to govern than be born."
The Matron came around the table. "But I tire of this argument. It seems I say the same thing every single day, and each time I do, my conviction for our course of action just grows stronger." She stopped when she reached the opposite end. "Is there something useful you can tell me?"
"There is one thing." Whitman paused, pondering his next words.
"Well?" she said. "Don't keep me waiting."
"Senator Divian has been bending the king's ear about some sort of plan she has to fight the Obsidian Ridge."
The Matron perked up. "Tell me more."
"She wants the king to try to unite all of the kingdom's
spellcasters, a convocation of mages, in an effort to counter Arch Magus Xeries."
"I see." The Matron rubbed her chin.
"The king is rightfully nervous about Xeries's magical power."
"Does he think the senator's plan has merit?"
"He's not sure there are enough wizards in Erlkazar to match the power of the Obsidian Ridge, but considering the alternatives, it's the best plan he feels he's got at the moment."
"He's right. There probably aren't enough lawful spell-casters 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."
+
Chapter Fourteen
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."
Korox flinched and pulled away from Whitman. "So she knows of our plan to fight Xeries. How could she know about the convocation of mages?"
Whitman looked to the ground and shook his head. "I do not know. But she knew, and she wanted you to know that. That's why I was beaten." The scribe began to sob.
The king put his hand on the man's shoulder. He felt a pang of guilt. For Korox, this was the worst part of being the king—knowing that sometimes other people were hurt on his behalf.
"She's got Mariko." The king closed his eyes and shook his head. He hadn't thought it could get any worse. But it had. He turned to Kaden. "If the Matron can abduct a member of my court from his bed and knows of plans we've only just talked about, then surely she has more reach into the palace than we had thought."
Korox tried to wrap his brain around Whitman's story. The pieces just didn't add up. If four men could get into and out of the palace without getting spotted, then why didn't they just come for him? If the Matron had that much reach, then why abduct a junior member of the court? Only then to return the man at some time later, beaten to a pulp, with a ransom note and an offering to help?
"Does she want to scare me?" The king was thinking out loud. "Let me know she can get to me anytime she wants? If that's the case, then why offer an alliance?"
And how could she know about his plans to fight Xeries? Outside of himself, only Kaden, Quinn, and Senator Divian were aware of his thinking on the matter. The idea was Divian's, and he'd known her too long to think she was the one who would jeopardize the plan by revealing it to the underworld. Kaden and Quinn were the two men the king most trusted, leaving his own life in their hands on a daily basis. If either one of them turned out to be a spy for the underworld, then everyone in the entire palace was suspect. Was there no one he could trust?
Then it hit him. There was someone else who knew of that conversation, someone else who could have told the Matron their plans.
That someone was Whitman.
The king looked to the Magistrate who had brought him the healing potion. "Soldier, I want you to go to the front
gate of the palace. Ask the guard there for an accounting of all persons who entered or left the palace last night and early this morning."
"Yes, my lord," replied the Magistrate, and he hurried
off.
The king nodded to two other soldiers. "You two, take hold of this man."
Without hesitation the Magistrates grabbed hold of Whitman, pinning him down.
"What... what are you—?" stuttered the scribe.
Korox stood in front of Whitman, his shadow looming large over the prone man. "Anything you want to tell me before that solider returns?"
Whitman's eyes grew wide. "My lord, what... whatever do you mean?"
Korox could feel his anger rising. "Don't play me for the fool, Whitman."
"My lord, I would never—"
"When that Magistrate returns," continued the king, "I suspect he's going to have an accounting of you leaving the palace last night—not gagged and carried by four men, but under your own power."
Whitman looked up at the king, swallowing hard.
Korox reached for the hilt of his sword. It wasn't there, and he realized he'd taken it out while he was sparring with Kaden.
"If you're lying to me, Whitman," he growled, "if you're helping the underworld in any part of this, so help me, I'll beat you with my bare hands."
The doors on all the barracks burst open, and Magistrates poured out. Apparently alarmed by the sound of the king's raised voice, they arrived in various states of dress, all of them carrying weapons.
Seeing nearly a unit of the King's Magistrates appear as if from nowhere must have scared the scribe, because his eyes grew wide and he started to thrash around—a desperate,
guilty man making one last attempt at freedom.
Korox leaned over, his face nearly touching Whitmans, his fists already in balls. "Did you tell the Matron about the mages' convocation?"
The beaten man burst into tears, and he curled up into a ball, defending himself against a coming blow. "It was me. Please don't hurt me. I can't take anymore. I admit it. I told the Matron about the plans to defeat Xeries. I've been working with her all along. Please. Please. Just don't hurt me."
King Korox Morkann spun around with his right fist, catching the scribe squarely on the jaw, knocking a pair of teeth out of the man's mouth with his powerful blow.
"Where—"
He swung again, his massive frame blocking out the morning sun, and burying Whitman in the king's shadow. The scribe's head flopped around on his neck like the chained ball of a flail.
"Is—"
Another blow.
"My—"
And then a fourth. "Daughter!"
With this final impact, Whitman's body began to convulse. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth. His eyes rolled around in his head, hardly able to focus.
Korox wound up for another strike, but Captain Kaden caught his arm.
"My lord!" pleaded the leader of the Magistrates. "Let him speak."
Whitman could hardly move his lips, so badly beaten was he. Drooling blood and mucus, his eyes now both swollen shut, the scribe ran his hand across his mouth, clearing out another broken tooth.
"She's... she's in the Cellar."
King Korox's heart froze, and his stomach knotted. "The Cellar."
Without a word, he turned and headed back to the palace.
"My lord!" shouted Captain Kaden. "What do you want us to do with Whitman?"
The king waved his hand over his shoulder, not looking back. "Take him to the dungeon. I'm not through with him yet."
+
Chapter Fifteen
The king stormed into the audience chamber, his clothes still damp with sweat from sparring. A court clerk approached him as he made his way around the curved outer wall.
"King Korox, if I could just get a moment—"
The king waved him off. "No," he boomed.
The clerk bowed once then disappeared behind a column.
Reaching the far side and the statue of Ondeth Obarskyr, Korox pushed open the door to his private reading room. Though it was early morning, the room was still quite dark. The sun coming in from the high windows cast long shadows across the opposite wall. The reflection lit the chamber well enough that the king could see all the obstacles in his way.
Crossing to the far edge, the king looked into the darkened corner.
"Where is he?" he said under his breath. "I am here, my king."
Behind him, the Claw had materialized. It had always been disconcerting to Korox that the Claw seemingly appeared out of thin air, but now was not the time to discuss this little pet peeve.
"So, I don't need to tell you about the Matron's demand."
"No, you do not."
"And you are aware of the princess's predicament?"
The Claw nodded.
"We can speak freely here, away from other ears. What am I to do?"
The Claw took a deep breath, pausing—a very uncharacteristic moment of hesitation.
"This is not the time to withhold your thoughts," said the king. "I need your unfiltered council, so that I can make a quick decision about both the Matron and my daughter."
The Claw bowed his head. "My lord, there is something I must tell you...." Another moment of hesitation.
"Out with it, man," demanded the king. "Mariko is in the Cellar. For all we know she may already be dead, but if she is not—and I pray for the sake of Erlkazar she is still unharmed—then I need to move fast."
"I'll get her," volunteered the Claw.
The king nodded. "I thought you might. But then what do I do about the Matron?"
"My lord, I am your loyal servant. If you were to ask me to descend to the deepest levels of Hell and return with a devil in tow, I would do it without question. There is nothing too grand or too small, nothing I would withhold from you. But I cannot turn myself over to the Matron. Not now."
The king was puzzled. "Not now?"
"Because I am in love with your daughter, and I must get her back."
The king lowered his head. "I know."
It was the Claw's turn to be puzzled. "You know?"
"Mariko is not the only spy at my disposal."
"I see." The Claw stared at the ground, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking rather uncomfortable.
"We do not have the time to have the conversation about what it means to court my daughter," said the king. "But I hope we will in the near future." He put his hand on the Claw's shoulder. "For now, let's just get her back."
The Claw nodded. "Yes, my lord."
The king crossed the room and slid open the drawer on a
desk in the corner. Reaching inside, he retrieved a small box, a magic sigil inscribed on its surface. Placing his hand on top, he spoke the princess's name. "Mariko Morkann," and the lid to the box sprang open.
"This"—he lifted a small, flat disk, about twice the size of a typical gold coin, from the box; brightly colored triangles radiated out from the center, making it look like a child's toy—"is a portal that will take you to the Cellar. You will be able to activate it a second time to get back out, once you have found Mariko. But be careful when you use it. It can only be used once to get in and once to get out. It will not last very long. If you activate it and do not use it, you will be lost, trapped inside the Cellar." He offered it to the masked man.
The Claw took it. "I understand."
The king grabbed his assassin by the arm. "I have trusted you with the most important matters of my reign. Now I must trust you with my daughter's life. Please, don't let me lose her."
The Claw bowed. "I will get her back. I give you my word."
"I know you will," said the king, his heart heavy for the news h still had to deliver. "But son, I'm afraid that"—he pointed to the magical portal disk—"is all the help I can give you. If you fail, I will have no choice but to turn you over to the underworld."
The Claw nodded his understanding.
"There is still the matter of the Obsidian Ridge, and I have a responsibility to this kingdom."
"Yes, my lord."
"I can give you enough time to leave the palace—to get to the Cellar. But then I must give the Magistrates the order." "The order?"
"Yes." The king steeled himself. "I will tell the Matron that she has a deal. That I will turn you over to her as soon as I can hunt you down. If she has as much reach into the palace as I suspect, then she will know if I'm telling her the truth. So
I will send the Magistrates out, looking for you. You will be a hunted man, but if you are quick, you will be out of this realm and inside the Cellar before I give the command."
"I do not understand," said the Claw. "Why accept the deal if I can get the princess back?"
"Because I do not trust the Matron, but I have no choice but to accept her offer for help. While you are searching for Mariko, I can be putting together plans to fight Xeries—with the help of the underworld. If all goes well, you will retrieve my daughter while we fight off the Obsidian Ridge."
The Claw nodded. "I see. Thank you, my lord. I will not fail."
"Good luck, son. Good luck."
Without looking back, King Korox Morkann left his private reading room, closing the door behind him. Crossing through the circle of pillars, he sat down on his throne and waved over a junior scribe.
A young man of no more than eighteen years scampered over, his arms full of parchment, a quill and ink gripped in his hands.
"Take this down." The king cleared his throat. "By official decree, I, Korox Morkann, King of Erlkazar, do hereby order the Magistrates of my realm to find and capture the man known as the Claw. He is to be returned to me alive and with all haste." The king paused. "Use all force necessary to retrieve this man. Spare no expense. The fate of Erlkazar depends on it."
Korox nodded. "Have that posted on all barracks and delivered to the commanders of each unit."
The young man looked up from his writing, his eyes wide. He swallowed hard, then nodded, shuffling off to do as he was told.
Korox slumped back in his throne.
+++++
The Claw stood in the king's private reading room. This was the first time he'd been here alone, and the room, although small and packed with furniture, felt very empty.
He turned the magical, colored disk over in his hand. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out what was on the other side. The Cellar, from all accounts, was a terrible place. But that wasn't what bothered him.
It was the princess. She'd been missing for three days now. If she'd been in the Cellar all that time, there's no telling what sort of foul evil had befallen her.
The Claw wasn't frightened by much, not even the thought of his own death. But finding the woman he loved torn to shreds on the floor of the Cellar would be more than he could handle.
He placed the disk on the floor and readied himself. There was only one way to find out if she was still alive. And the faster he got there, the more likely he could save her. Giving the disk a spin, he watched the colors blur and melt into one another. They lifted off the surface, seemingly knitting together in midair.
A shimmering portal formed beside the disk. It swirled, a giant replica of the spinning trinket, suspended over the ground by nothing at all. Picking up the disk, the Claw stepped through the portal—out of the palace and into the Cellar.
As soon as both feet touched the ground, the portal winked out of existence behind him. The chamber he had entered was completely dark. It smelled damp and musty, like the mineral caves under the ruins of Castle Trinity, and the only sound was of dripping water, somewhere off in the distance.
The Claw slipped the portal disk under a flap of fabric beneath his belt then unfastened his left gauntlet.
"As you wish, Princess Mariko," he said, and the sigil on his palm lit up.
The Claw found himself standing inside a long, narrow
J
room. Patches of fuzzy yellow mold covered the walls and floor. The few flagstones still visible were worn and broken, missing altogether in many places. Pools of dirty water had collected in the divots. The light from Princess Mariko's magical gift reflected off their surfaces, illuminating the dripping cracks in the ceiling.
The Claw took in the whole chamber, swinging his palm from one end to the other. The portal had brought him to the inside of a sealed room. There didn't appear to be any doors or windows—no way out at all.
"First things first."
Kneeling down, the Claw retrieved a small dagger from his boot. Using it to puncture the leather on his off-hand gauntlet, he cut a square hole in the palm—the same size as the illuminated sigil. It took him some time. His gauntlets were well-crafted, and the leather resisted being severed. But eventually he succeeded. Satisfied with his work, he returned the gauntlet to his left hand and made his way down to the far end of the room.
The stones on the floor moved and shifted under his weight. It seemed they hadn't been walked upon in some time. As he drew closer to the end, it looked as if there had at one time been a door leading out of this chamber, but it was now all bricked up. The yellowish mold seemed thin here, giving way to more of the foul water. A large puddle flooded most of this part of the room, growing ever bigger from the slow drip in the ceiling.
Stopping at the edge of the puddle, the Claw scanned the bricked-up doorway with his illuminated palm. The brick was a different color than the rest of the wall, but it wasn't new by any means. Turning his attention to the ceiling, he scanned the crack that seemed to be the only way in or out of here.
The puddle below him thrashed violently, splashing filthy water in every direction. Something wrapped around his legs, and he lost his balance, pulled from his feet. One moment he
was standing, the next he found himself looking up, his body soaked, lying flat on his back in the puddle.
The water rose from the ground around him, forming into a pair of huge hands, and they swung down on the Claw, hitting him squarely in the chest. The air rushed from his lungs.
Rolling to one side, the Claw scampered to his feet, turning to face the black, watery hands. Around those hands, a humanoid formed, lifting itself straight out of the puddle as if using the water to create a body. Its features were dull and ill-defined, slowly taking on more shape. Finally, standing in a pool of water only half the size that it once was, the Claw faced what looked like a drow woman.
Not yet having caught his breath, he took a feeble swipe at the newcomer. Without moving, the woman's body turned liquid, dripping away from his strike and avoiding the attack. The Claw stumbled, his momentum moving into his swing, and he was rewarded with another pair of vicious blows, this time to the head.
The counterstrike from the watery creature sent him tumbling to the corner of the room. Tucking his head, the Claw rolled with the fall, coming up against the wall with his feet and stopping himself from smashing into the mold. Kicking away, he quickly got back to his feet, circling away from the creature.
Though it had the form of a female dark elf, this was no drow. The creature's body was fluid, oozy. Not quite water, but it could reorganize itself as if it were liquid. The Claw had heard of such beasts, but he thought they were just the ramblings of drunken adventurers, telling tall tales over an ale at the inn.
The watery thing lunged, reaching for his right hand. The Claw backed away, bringing all four blades of his left gauntlet squarely down on the creature's shoulder, severing its arm from its body. The arm splashed to the floor into a puddle of goo that resembled a jellyfish washed up on a beach.
The creature screamed and pulled away, grasping at its stump. It spouted off some words that he didn't understand— all hisses and clicks. Whatever she was saying, he was certain it meant she was not happy with him.
As he watched, the creature regrew its arm. Then the rest of its features solidified, turning from slimy ooze into fabric, metal, flesh, and leather. It wore a steel breastplate, polished to a high shine, with copper chain sleeves. Underneath its armor, the drow creature had formed a purple velvet shirt that shone through the sides of the breastplate and the rings of the chain. Below that, it sported a thick leather belt that held up a single short sword in a metal scabbard. And of course, its skin was a shiny, onyx black.
The Claw shook his head. He found himself looking into her dark eyes as she stared at him. Funny how charming she seemed, even though he didn't understand her language.
The creature came at him again, punching her fist at his left gauntlet. Though she had a sword, she hadn't drawn it, and the barehanded attack caught the Claw off guard. He tried to pull back, but the drow woman was quick, and her fist collided with his. When it did, her hand flowed out, becoming little more than a blob of gelatinous gunk enveloping his entire left hand—bladed gauntlet, wrist, and all.
The room grew dark, as the magical light on his palm glowed through the drow beast's flesh, illuminating her face and chest but little else. The Claw shook his arm, trying to break free, but it was no use. She had him. The ooze around his hand seemed to dry up, hardening to an almost leatherlike state, trapping his weapon inside the creature.
Struggling for a moment longer, the Claw finally gave up. "Won't let it go?" he growled, pulling his right hand back into a fist. "Fine. I'll cut it out."
The Claw yanked the creature forward with his left hand, and buried the blades of his gauntlet into its gut with his right. Though it appeared to be wearing polished steel armor, it gave way like oozy flesh. Unable to dodge in time, the beast
was pinned, and the Claw pulled his arms apart, tearing the drow woman in half. She screamed as her body came apart, then she slumped and sloughed off, dripping away from the Claw's gauntlets and splattering on the floor like chunks of uneaten food.
The Claw shook his hands to clear all the ooze from between his blades. Bits of the creature slipped slowly from his weapons, raining down on the ground and splashing in the filthy water. Kicking at the chunks of the creature's remains, he satisfied himself that it was indeed dead.
"Now," he said to himself, "to find the princess."
Reaching into his belt, he pulled out a small compass. Lifting its lid, he examined the needle. Unlike most compasses, this one didn't have the cardinal directions inscribed on its surface. In fact, there were no markings on it at all, just a glass top, a black bottom, and a silver needle—which pointed toward the corner of the room.
It was brighter now that his palm was no longer encased in ooze, and he followed the direction of the compass to the mold-covered wall. There were two footprints on the wall from where he had pushed off after being knocked on the head by the ooze creature. The mold had come away where he had hit, revealing something other than stone underneath. He tapped at it with the tips of his blades, and it made the low, solid thump of wood.
Taking a step back, he let loose with a kick, right above the footprints. The wood behind creaked under the blow, and the mold flopped from its surface, exposing an arched door with black iron bolts holding it together. Wet and covered in mold, it didn't give the Claw much trouble. With just a few more kicks the wood came apart, crumbling into rotten splinters, sending a million tiny spiders scattering in all directions.
The Claw's skin crawled at the sight of it. "I hope none of you get any bigger," he said as he leaned down and slipped through the door. "Nothing I hate more than spiders."
+
Chapter sixteen
Genevie walked across the drawbridge and through the portcullis into Klarsamryn. She waved to the guards as she passed, trying to smile. It made her nervous to see so many armed men at the gate. She couldn't remember the last time there were so many Magistrates in one place.
Crossing through the great hall, she hurried her way through the palace's stone hallways to the princess's chamber. Retrieving her key from the pocket of her robe, she slipped it into the lock and let herself in.
The room was mostly dark, but her half-elf eyes could see clearly. Obviously, no one had been looking after the princess's chamber. Chairs were out of place. The linens on the bed were unmade. And the doors of the wardrobe were wide open. Even the lid of the wooden chest where they kept. the winter blankets was askew. It appeared as if someone has ransacked the place, looking for something.
This just wouldn't do. Weaving her way through the disheveled furniture, Genevie went to the window and threw wide the drapes, letting in the late afternoon light.
"You've got a lot of explaining to do," growled a voice from behind her.
Turning around, Genevie dropped to one knee. "My king," she said, following it up with an elaborate bow.
A single hand wrapped around her left arm and dragged
her to her feet. Genevie tried to pull herself from the soldier's grasp, but the Magistrate's powerful hand held her tight.
Genevie twisted in pain. "My lord, make him stop. He's... he's hurting me."
"Oh," said the king, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes growing dark. "These men haven't even begun to hurt you."
The Magistrate dragged Genevie out of the princess's chambers. Just outside the door stood six armed guards and a court wizard, all of whom drew their weapons and fell into step behind Genevie as she was dragged away. Stopping at the end of the hall, the king himself kicked open another door and pointed.
"In there," he ordered.
The Magistrate not-so-gently threw the handmaiden into the room, following behind. The king entered as well.
Genevie crashed into a set of wooden shelves against the far wall and collapsed to the floor. She had been in this room before. Little more than a closet, this was where the servants and staff who took care of this floor kept their buckets and mops. There were no windows here—no light and no way out except through the open door into the hallway—both of which were blocked by the king and the Magistrate.
Genevie pulled her legs into her body and covered her head with her hands. "Please, my lord, don't hurt me. I—"
"Where have you been, Genevie?" asked the king. He was pacing back and forth between the walls of the tiny room. "We've been looking all over for you."
"I-I-I—" Genevie stuttered. Her whole body was shaking, and she was gasping for air between giant sobs.
"Out with it, Genevie," said the king. "You go missing on the same day my daughter disappears. Were you with her when she was taken?"
Genevie shook her head, unable to get out any words.
"Then where were you?" The king bent down, placing his huge face in front of hers. "Well?"
Genevie kept quiet, just lying on the ground, her arms, curled around her body as tightly as she could draw them.
"Answer me!" shouted the king. He grabbed her by the front of her robes, lifting her into the air. "You were my daughter's closest confidant, and you sold her out, didn't you? You and Whitman, you did this together. You were the only other person who could have known where she was going to be. You knew about her late nights. You knew when she came and left the palace. And you sold her out!"
"No! No, it's nothing like that. I would never hurt the princess. Never." Genevie spat out the words in desperation, trying to get free.
The king slapped her across the face with the-back of his hand. "Then Whitman comes back with an offer from the Matron. And you conveniently show up." He let her go, dropping the half-elf to the floor.
Genevie scampered into the corner, curling herself up into a ball.
"On the same day, no less." Korox continued his pacing. "You disappear without a trace. No word from you. Nothing for three full days. In the meantime, the entire kingdom is looking for you and the princess. This is more than a little suspicious."
"I was... I was... with my grandson. He... he's sick. And... and he needs medicine, and I couldn't—"
Korox interrupted her. "You know what I think, Genevie? I think you're lying. I think you helped Whitman concoct this whole plan, and that you were in on it from the beginning."
The king gabbed a wooden bucket from one of the shelves and slammed it to the ground. It shattered as it hit the stone floor, pieces ricocheting all over the closet. Genevie tried to pull herself up even tighter into the corner, tucking her head into her lap and covering herself with her arms.
"You know what else I think?" shouted the king. "I think you might actually be the Matron. I think all of this is some sort of plot to take over my kingdom. And I think that you just might try to hurt my daughter if it meant you could seize control of Erlkazar."
From out in the hall came a great commotion. People were running back and forth, and there were shouts.
The king turned his attention away from Genevie. "What's going on out there?"
He stepped away, and the half-elf could see one of the soldiers at the door shrug. Then someone arrived, shouting for the king.
"King Korox! My lord! You must come quick. Another obelisk has arrived."
Genevie couldn't see the messenger, but she was thankful for the reprieve.
"Watch her!" ordered the king, his meaty fist poking in from out in the hall, one of his sausage-like fingers pointing down at her. "Don't close the door. Don't take your eyes off of her. Ward the room against any of her magic, and if she tries to escape, cut her arms and legs off. I need her head still attached, so she can answer questions, but the other limbs are expendable."
++ •+ ?
King Korox didn't know what to think.
He marched down the hallway to the great hall.
None of this made any sense. Where had Genevie been? A sick grandson as an explanation? She disappears as the princess is kidnapped, and her excuse is that her grandson is sick? Perhaps Korox's instincts were right. If she was conspiring with Whitman, and her returning now, of all times, was all part of their plan, then they had miscalculated. If she was the Matron, it would explain how Mariko was seemingly so easily captured. But why would Genevie come
back here? She had what she wanted. Did she get nervous when she didn't hear from Whitman? That wouldn't make any sense either. Why risk coming into the palace without guards or mages? Wouldn't she want to negotiate the terms of her offer to help? Was she here to kill the king? The Claw had overheard the Tasca brothers talking about a plot on his life, and so far they hadn't seen any attempt. Then how did Mariko's disappearance factor into all of this?
There were just too many questions and not enough answers.
The messenger led him to the front gate, where a group of people was once again gathered.
"Make way for the king!" shouted the messenger.
Storming out onto the drawbridge, Korox tried to pull himself together. Twice in one day he'd raised his hand against people whom only a few days before he had considered trusted allies. His confidence in the people around him was eroding quickly, and he was starting to act like a desperate man—not a commanding, confident king.
Stepping out onto the wooden slats, King Korox looked up once again at a huge obsidian obelisk.
One of the soldiers standing by greeted him. "King Korox," he said, bowing. "Unlike the last one, this stone appeared right in front of our eyes."
The king nodded, approaching it and placing his hand on its side. The jet black stone was slick and warm to the touch. Two words were chiseled onto the face of the stone.
Moonrise tonight.
"The first message said four days," whispered the king. "It's only been three."
The crowd behind him let out a collective gasp, and several people pointed off to the east, toward Shalane Lake. The king turned too, watching in horror as the Obsidian Ridge moved. It swept past the docks, gliding to a stop over the fields at the low point of the valley, not far from where it had first appeared. The arched portals on its sides slid open, and from them, the black beasts began to pour out.
The creatures fell from the sides of the floating citadel. They dropped to the ground, rolling then unfurling, collecting in the shadow of the Obsidian Ridge.
+++++
Chapter seventeen
The needle on the Claw's compass led him into a long dark corridor. The floors were damp, the stone walls worn, and the passage he traversed wound around a long curve, gently sloping downward as it headed deeper into the Cellar.
Staying against the outside wall of the curve, the Claw moved quickly but cautiously. He had already passed the bodies of several dead cloakers, cut to shreds in the hallway. Whatever had done that was presumably still roaming free. Unless it had run into something larger. Either way, he needed to stay sharp.
The compass pointed ahead and to his left, but the corridor curved to the right. The needle apparently didn't account for walls. The farther he went, the more the needle swayed, and he began to worry that he wasn't on the right path. His only hope was that there would be another passage or a large chamber at the end of this hall.
His worry was cut short by the sound of heavy metal armor clanking down the passageway. It was close, and it picked up speed, heading right for him. The Claw closed his palm. His magical light went out, and the hallway went completely dark.
Crossing to the other side of the passage, the Claw pressed himself up against the inside of the curve. Pulling his cloak tight, he blended in and held still. The noise grew closer,
sounding like a single man wearing heavy plate.
Then, suddenly, the sound stopped. The passageway grew silent except for the ringing memory of the clanking metal. The Claw squeezed his hands into fists. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Had he been spotted? He couldn't take the chance.
Pushing himself away, the Claw rolled into the middle of the hall and took a fighting stance.
"As you wish, Princess Mariko."
The magic lit up the passage—illuminating a huge, gleaming suit of armor standing right in front of where the Claw had been only a fraction of a heartbeat before. Its surface was inscribed with hundreds if not thousands of tiny, intricate runes. It filled most of the hallway with its massive bulk and floated almost a full foot off the ground; its heavy boots no longer touching the stone floor.
The helm turned toward the Claw, as if it were looking at him. A faint purple light began to glow inside, beaming out the eyes and mouth of the visor. It grew in intensity, as if awakened by what it had found. The seams at the elbows, knees, neck, and feet also began to glow, and the Claw could see right through it at the joints. There was nothing inside this armor—no human, no creature, no nothing, just magic and malice.
A helmed horror.
This construct had to be over a thousand years old. The horrors were the first denizens of the Cellar, placed here as guardians by the wizard who had created the place. There were legends of these ancient things protecting a rare and powerful treasure. The stories had them wandering the halls of the Cellar, keeping out greedy adventurers and fortune seekers. But that was from another era, a time before the Cellar became a prison and a punishment.
The construct cast its floating purple shadow on the ceiling, the floor, and both walls. Then it lifted its right hand, the hilt of an ornate sword gripped in its gauntlet. The blade
suddenly sprang to life—humming and vibrating as it came into existence. It appeared to be made from a dull, gray metal. The surface was inscribed with long, thin, even lines that spread from the tip to the hilt. In between each of the lines were a series of circles and dots. To the Claw, they looked like notes on a piece of sheet music, but they were more sinister.
The construct pointed the sword at the Claw and advanced, taking steps but making no sound as its feet walked magically upon the air. The Claw took a step back, not sure how to attack a creature that was nothing more than protective armor and magic.
The horror swung with a metered purpose. The Claw slapped the blade aside with one of his gauntlets. The metal made a melodious screech as it slipped harmlessly past.
The construct attacked again, swiping its sword level to the floor and crossing the entire passageway with its long reach. The Claw continued his retreat, tossing himself into a back flip like an acrobat, landing on his hands and continuing over until he stood on his feet, two full body lengths away.
The horror broke into a run, charging down the hall. Its magical blade came down, and the Claw dodged away. Diving forward onto his belly, he skidded along the stones, narrowly squeezing through the space under the ancient defender's floating feet. Rolling over onto his back, he slashed at the creature's legs as they ran past. His sharpened gauntlets screeched as they bit into the metal, sending sparks flying but doing apparently little other damage.
The Cellar guardian stopped its charge and turned around, lowering itself to the ground. Taking its sword in both hands, it came again, its heavy feet clanking as it did. Bearing down with all of its might, it filled the confined space with magical steel. The Claw didn't have time to get to his feet, so he rolled to one side, smashing himself into the base of the wall.
The horror's blade clipped the edge of his cloak but missed the rest of his body. The sword slammed into the wall with tremendous force, which was followed by a cacophonous roar.
The impact had released some sort of magic from the blade, and the passageway shook. The Claw covered his ears with his hands, feeling as if he were in the very center of a huge thunderstorm. The sound echoed down the hallway, crumbling stone and sending debris flying.
The Claw could feel the ground under his shoulder moving as the flagstones shifted from the tremendous noise. Then the ceiling started to collapse. Handfuls of dirt rained down on him, and he scampered to his feet, trying to cover his head with his cloak to keep the dust out of his eyes.
Taking off down the passage, the Claw attempted to escape from the fight. Right behind him, the horror yanked its blade out of the wall where it had buried itself into the crumbling brick. Then it gave chase, its metal frame pounding the vibrating floor.
There was a tremendous crash as the ceiling continued to cave in. A crack shot through the stone, running in every direction, and huge boulder-sized chunks dropped to the floor, shaking the walls as they collided with the ground. The Claw ducked into a crouch, running at full speed down the corridor. The horror was right on his heels. Behind both of them, rocks fell from the ceiling, chasing them down the hall as the passage filled in.
The corridor continued to curve down and to the right. The Claw followed, having no other choice, hoping that he wasn't running from one terrible fight into another. The ground shook, and the ceiling fell. The crack spread faster than the Claw could run, and dirt rained down ahead of him. Pieces dropped at his feet, and he hopped over them while he made his escape. Behind him, he could hear bits of stone clanking off the metal hide of the ancient construct. They sounded like huge hailstones bouncing off the iron rooftops of the shanties just outside the Llorbauth docks.
Coming around the next corner, the passage straightened out and widened into sort of a crossroads—four passages heading off in opposite directions. The Claw launched
himself forward, hurling himself out of the hallway and into the open space. Landing in a ball, he somersaulted once, came to his feet, and spun around, his gauntlets out like the claws of a tiger, ready to fight.
The helmed horror appeared at the end of the hall, its blade clutched in its huge hand. Stones rained down around it, denting the creature as it tried to escape. The advancing crack in the ceiling shot out over the archway that led from the room into the hall. The keystone crumbled, and the end "of the passage collapsed, dropping to the floor in a collective mass, sending dirt and the sound of crushing metal spewing out into the room.
The Claw cowered back, covering his face and protecting himself from the floating debris. The crossroads, brightened by mage-lit stones in sconces along the wall, went •dim from the cloud of black dust. The Claw coughed through his cloak, sucking air through the fabric to block out the floating filth.
There was a light tinkling sound as the heavier particles settled back to the ground—the last sprinkling of the stone rain. The Claw moved toward the mouth of the hallway he'd just come from. His eyes burned and itched from the dust, but slowly the air cleared. Where the archway had been only a few moments before, there was now a huge mound of crumbled stone.
He couldn't see the construct, even a piece of it, through the pile, but he was certain nothing was going to make it out of there alive—or still moving. He checked the ceiling, wary of having to dash away from falling stone. But the cave-in had stopped at the end of the passage, and the crossroads was spared.
He was safe—for the moment.
+++++
King Korox stepped back into the storage closet where Genevie was being held. Upon seeing him, the half-elf recoiled in fear.
"I have very little time for this," said Korox. His head hurt and he rubbed his temples. "So I'm going to ask you some simple questions, and you're going to answer them." He looked right at Genevie, his tone threatening, his words sincere. "Do you understand?"
The handmaiden nodded.
"Good. Then we will start." The king paused, looking for the right way to phrase his first question. "How many mages can you gather before nightfall?"
The half-elf woman looked puzzled. "I don't... I can't gather any."
The king slammed his fist into a wooden shelf, shattering it and sending the pieces dropping to the floor. "I don't have time for your games. I know you're the Matron, and I'm willing to make a deal with you. That is what you offered, isn't it? That was what you sent Whitman here to tell me. That you wanted some sort of an alliance? So name your price. What is it you want to release my daughter and help me defeat Xeries?"
"My lord, please forgive me, but I am not the Matron. I don't know any mages or about any deal, and I do not know where Princess Mariko is." She stood in the corner, looking at the king with wide, wild eyes.
"Damn you!" he shouted, pointing at her with one thick finger. "I will have no more of this! You will deal with me now, or you will die."
"I told you," Genevie sobbed, terror on her face, "I have no mages. I don't know where the princess is."
There was commotion behind the king. It sounded as if the guards were holding back someone who wanted to get into the closet.
"Let me pass!" came a voice. "The king is making a terrible mistake."
Korox stopped shouting and lowered his finger. "Vasser? Is that Vasser?"
"Yes, my lord," came the voice. Then, "You see. I told you the king would want to see me."
The guards stepped aside and into the closet came Vasser. He lifted his very large hat from the top of his head, and swung it out before him as he gave the king an elaborate bow.
"Before you get carried away, my king, allow me to tell you what I know."
Korox nodded.
Placing his hat under his arm, Vasser slipped past the king and stood beside the half-elf woman. "I have been following the princess's handmaiden—among others—for some time. Three days ago, however, she managed to give me the slip, and I've been looking for her on your instruction ever since. This morning I discovered that she has been in the south, purchasing medicinal herbs to give to her grandson." Vasser looked down on the terrified half-elf, her cheek swollen from where the king struck her. "He has a rare disease that will require a very expensive spell to cure. In the meantime, Genevie has been getting a copper weed poultice from a druid in Duhlnarim, to soothe her grandson's symptoms while she collects the coin to pay for the spell."
"So you're telling me that her disappearance was a complete coincidence? That it had nothing to do with the princess's kidnapping?"
Vasser nodded. "That is what I am telling you."
"She..." The reality of the situation hit King Korox, and a heavy pang of guilt set in. "You're telling me she's innocent?"
"Not entirely," said Vasser. "She is guilty of stealing candlesticks and bits of silverware from the princess's chamber."
"I was going to repay her. As... as soon as I had the coin." Genevie held her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, my lord. I'm... I'm ashamed of what I have done, and I should be punished."
The king was completely deflated. "I am the one who should be ashamed." He dropped to his knees in front of the handmaiden. "You're not the Matron, are you?"
Genevie shook her head. "No."
"Your only crime is that you tried to help your sick grandson."
The half-elf nodded, not looking at him.
The king tried to take her hand, but Genevie flinched away.
Korox's heart sank. He had never done anything so vile as this before. He had never acted in a manner so unbefitting a king. He no longer felt as if he deserved all of his riches and power. If Bane were to appear before him and demand that he turn over all that he had, he would do it right now, without complaint. Nothing he could ever do, no matter how much good it would bring, could possibly make up for the thrashing and accusation he laid on this poor woman today.
He pulled his hand away from the half-elf. "I know that what I have done to you is wrong. And I am certain that my apology does not excuse me for my behavior. Nor, I suspect, will it make you feel any better." He paused. "But I give you my apology all the same."
Getting to his feet, the king stepped out into the hall. "Get her a healer, right away. And send a message to the temple of Ilmater," he said to the wizard who had been summoned to ward the room against magic. "Have them send a high priest to cure Genevie's grandson. Whatever it costs, no matter the expense, I will pay for it personally." He glanced back into the lightless chamber Vasser was helping the old half-elf get to her feet. "And I want her to have a bodyguard. For the rest of her days. No one will ever be allowed to lay a hand on her in anger, ever again."