Obsidian Ridge (15 page)

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.”

+

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.