Obsidian Ridge (3 page)

The princess looked up from the notes she had been scribbling to see Genevie struggling.

“Oh, Genevie!” The princess raised her hand, and the book rose into the air. “Let me help you with that.”

The handmaiden smiled, relieved to be rid of such a strain. “Thank you, my lady. My arms no longer have the strength in them that they once did.”

“Of course, Genevie. I didn’t realize how heavy it was, or I wouldn’t have asked you to retrieve it.” Mariko waved at the suspended book as if it were a servant. “Come,” she said.

The tome floated through the air and laid itself down on the desk.

The princess patted the bench beside her. “You too,” she said to the handmaiden. “Come take a rest.”

Mariko liked to play the “good princess” game, as she called it, while Genevie was around. After all, Genevie saw her as an innocent, hardly more than a child. Mariko intended to keep it that way.

“Thank you, Princess, but I still have duties to—”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Mariko. “Come sit next to me. Besides, I have a secret I’m dying to tell someone.”

“Well in that case…” The elderly half-elf hurried to the bench. “I’m all ears. You know how I love secrets.”

The princess nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Genevie bounced a little on the bench, seeming suddenly much younger in her impatience.

“You must promise to keep this a secret.” “Of course, my lady.”

“Well”—the princess grinned—”I think I have met’ someone. Someone I might like a lot.”

“Have you now?” Genevie gave the princess a conspiratorial smile and leaned in, lowering her voice. “And does your father know?”

Mariko frowned. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. And you mustn’t tell him.”

Genevie clasped her hand to her breast. “You have my word. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I’ve been so excited, but I haven’t been able to tell—”

A knock on the heavy wooden door to the princess’s chamber interrupted their conversation.

“Princess,” came a voice from the other side, “I have a message from the king.”

Mariko stood and straightened her robes. She scanned the table in front of her. There were books and scrolls scattered everywhere, all covered in magical scripts.

“One moment please!” she shouted. Clasping her hands

together, she spoke a single word. A purplish light burst between her hands, and she spread them wide, producing a large sheet of woven cotton cloth.

“Genevie,” she whispered, “help me cover the table.”

The handmaiden grabbed hold of the cloth, helping the princess obscure the books and scrolls from view.

Satisfied that her recent activities were not immediately visible, the princess opened the door.

On the other side stood one of the king’s messengers.

The man bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” he said. “But your father requests your presence in the audience chamber.”

Mariko looked back at her handmaiden.

Genevie smiled and waved her on. “You go, my lady. I’ll tidy up here.”

“Thank you, Genevie.”

The messenger stepped back, and the princess headed off to meet her father.

+++++

“Is there something else?” asked Genevie.

The messenger stood in the open doorway, watching the princess disappear down the hall. When she was completely out of sight, he turned his attention back to the handmaiden.

“Yes,” he said, producing a sealed wooden box—runes inscribed from one end to the other on its outside. “This came for you.”

“Thank you.”

The messenger nodded and held it out. The moment Genevie’s hand touched the box, the runes lit up, bluish white. They glowed, then grew dim, the runes disappearing as the light went out.

The lid popped open, and Genevie placed her palm on top, holding it closed.

“Thank you,” she repeated, looking the messenger in the eye. “You are free to go.”

The messenger gave her a sideways glance, then bowed and left.

Closing the door behind her, Genevie took the box to the cluttered table and lay it down on top of the sheet and the princess’s books beneath. She opened the lid and pulled out a piece of parchment. Unfurling it, she read the inscription on its surface. With each word she read, her brows lowered more and more, and her face reddened. Her hands trembled as she neared the end.

When she finished, Genevie rolled the parchment and placed it back inside the box. Holding it in her open palm, she spoke three words, and the box burst into flames.

The light from the fire overpowered even the late morning daylight coming from the tall windows. It cast the handmaiden’s shadow on the floor and wooden bookshelves. Within moments the entire box was consumed, and as quickly as it had arrived, the flame disappeared.

Genevie blew the fine blackened ash out of her palm and wiped the remaining residue onto her robes. She hurried to the chest of drawers beside the canopy bed where the princess kept all of her most private things. Mariko was very protective of the contents of these drawers, and Genevie had been given strict instructions never to go inside.

Throwing open the first drawer, the princess’s handmaiden pushed aside garments and magical devices. Not finding what she wanted, the handmaiden continued on to the second drawer and then the third, growing more frantic as she went.

“There must be something,” she growled.

Completing her sweep of the dresser, Genevie returned to the door. Peeking out, she found the hallway completely clear. Closing the door, she secured the lock and turned her attention to the bookshelf. Moving aside each and every book, she continued her search.

+++++

“You will never get away with this!” Pello shouted at King Korox and the rest of the royal court.

Heavy iron chains draped his arms, and a magical torque adorned his neck. The opal stone at its center generated an anti-magic field, keeping the sorcerer and his spells at bay while he stood trial.

Despite the restraint, the king had taken extra precautions. His court wizards waited on the fringes of the room, prepared to counter any magical attacks should the younger Tasca escape his bonds.

That was the problem with sorcerers. Even unarmed, they were dangerous.

The king stood and a tall, very fit blond man wearing a fine chain shirt with a white tabard over the top stepped out from his perch beside the throne. Two intertwined red wyverns—Korox’s personal crest—adorned the blond man’s chest. Quinn, the king’s personal bodyguard. Though he was standing on the dais, his eyes searched every dignitary in attendance.

Turning his attention back to the bound sorcerer, the king raised himself to his full height and cleared his throat. Whitman, wearing formal courtly robes, dunked his quill in the ink vat, preparing to copy down the king’s next words.

“You have all heard the proclamation of this court,” said the king, his personal scribe scratching his quill across a piece of heavy parchment. “You know the charges leveled against this man.”

Taking a long moment to glance around the room, the king scanned over many people to make eye contact with an old friend, a red-headed man with three large scars across his left cheek. The man wore well-made clothing, but nothing too fancy. His royal blue and jade green crest—a simple shield covering two crossed swords—identified him as none other

than Lord Purdun, the Baron of Ahlarkhem.

Lord Purdun was Korox’s brother-in-law and one of his closest friends and allies. Purdun had fought beside him and his father, the late King Valon Morkann, when Erlkazar was still forming as a nation. Korox and Purdun had been part of a fighting regiment known as the Crusaders—the elite of the elite in the then-nascent nation of Erlkazar. They had been the driving force behind the creation of this kingdom after it had ceded from Tethyr.

“Pello Tasca, you have been found guilty of trafficking in forbidden magic and potions.” He stepped down off the dais and moved closer to the prisoner. Quinn moved with him, keeping himself between Pello and the king.

Korox continued on, his gaze falling upon a man in polished white plate mail, also with the king’s wyverns proudly displayed. Captain Kaden, the head of the King’s Magistrates. A muscular, sharp-eyed man, Kaden looked as if he had ancestors from beyond the Hordelands. His hair was dark and straight, and his skin had a warm healthy tone, no matter what time of year. After Quinn, Kaden was the next most trusted of the king’s inner circle.

Beside the captain stood Senator Divian. One of the most powerful clerics in all of Erlkazar, the senator was also Korox’s most senior court advisor. She had been part of his father’s court and had graciously offered to help Korox after Valon had passed away. Many of the most important laws in Erlkazar’s books had been penned by her hand.

Having turned nearly a full circle while taking in the room, the king’s glance came to rest on his daughter, Princess Mariko. The eye contact and the long pause had been intentional. He wanted the verdict of this trial to be felt by every single denizen of Erlkazar—the lawful and the not-so-lawful alike.

“My stance on such crimes is no secret,” said Korox, now

speaking directly to the shackled sorcerer. “As evidenced by my first act as king—the formation of the King’s Magistrates. I have tasked them first and foremost with cleaning up the filth that you and your kind peddle to our children and families.”

To this Tasca rolled his eyes, turning his body as far from the king as he could within the limits of his restraints.

The king narrowed his eyes. “It’s men like you who bring evil into this world. It’s men like you who burden the lives of the underprivileged. It’s men like you who destroy the dreams and ambitions of our youth by seducing them with black magic and addictions. It’s men like you who keep me up at night sharpening my sword, so that I will be ready to strike you down.” He paused, taking a breath. “Today Torm has given me the chance to remove some of the injustice from this world—and I am ready to take full advantage.”

The king took a step back, and much of the tension left Quinn’s shoulders, and his eyes softened.

“As the ruler of all five baronies and the kingdom of Erlkazar, I hereby sentence you, Pello Tasca, to a life of confinement in the Cellar.”

“The… the Cellar?” Pello choked on the words, clearly aghast at the severity of the judgment.

“So it has been spoken,” said the king, “and so it shall be carried out.”

Pello Tasca slumped in his chair.

The king returned to his throne and nodded at the Magistrates. “Take him away.”

Four fully armed and armored men converged on the shackled sorcerer, lifting him from his chair and carrying him out of the court without his feet touching the ground.

Struggling in their grip, Pello regained some of his former bravado.

“I’ll get you for this, Korox! You’ll be dead soon, and so will the Claw!”

The king, the princess, and Quinn all bristled at the threat.

“This is not the end of me. Do you hear—”

“Silence!” shouted Lord Purdun, cutting off Tasca’s final

words with the wave of his hand and the casting of a spell.

The criminal was dragged through the double doors and

out of the hall, the memory of his final tirade still echoing

through the chamber.

+

The moon rose high in the night sky, chasing away all but the most stalwart shadows and blanketing Erlkazar with light. The colors were muted, mostly gone, and the shapes blended into one another, making this bright night more menacing than most. Where darkness normally gave a shroud of privacy to the roads and fields, the courtyards and rooftops, now they were laid bare, exposed for anyone to see in all their naked glory.

But it wasn’t just the places that suffered from the harsh light of the moon. Anyone who chose to traverse those places was also exposed.

In the courtyard just outside Klarsamryn in Llorbauth, the Claw emerged from the shadows to stand in the stark light. His black cape fluttered softly in the breeze as he scanned the courtyard. This was the time of night when all good denizens of Erlkazar were asleep—all good denizens except those who protected the line between good and evil.

Another figure emerged from the darkened edges of the stone palace, shaping herself not from the shadows but from the brightness of the moon’s own light. She crossed the courtyard to stand before the Claw, her lightness the balance to his darkness.

“Were you followed?” asked the Claw.

“No,” said Princess Mariko. “Were you?”

He smiled. “Yes. Half of the underworld will be here any moment. So we must make this brief.”

“So the Claw has a sense of humor.” The princess ran her finger down his arm, then traced the flat of his gauntlet. “Rather unexpected for a man with so many sharp edges.”

“I have many facets. Most of them not discernible from a first glance.”

“Tall, dark, mysterious… and amusing. What else could a woman ask for?”

The Claw chuckled. “If only it were that easy.”

The princess stepped closer, placing her hand on his chest. “This seems pretty easy.” She reached up and pulled back the dark mask. Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his. The Claw returned her kiss, leaning into her body.

They stood in the moonlit courtyard for a long moment, her arms wrapped around his chest.

Moments like this, moments where he enjoyed the simple, human pleasures and felt just like a regular citizen—felt free of obligations, free of danger, free to make choices that affected nobody but himself—were few, and they never lasted long. The obligations of being the king’s assassin always returned.

So he learned to draw from these moments every second of enjoyment, knowing that every one could be his last.

The princess loosened her grip and stepped back to look into his eyes. She smiled at him. It was that smile that had done him in. He couldn’t resist from the first moment he’d seen it, and he couldn’t resist now.

“I have a gift for you,” he said. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the Claw retrieved a thin silver necklace with a simple round locket, a pair of interlocking circles with a clasp on one side, dangling from it. The moon reflected off its polished surface, directing a ray of light, shaped like two tiny clasped hands, onto the princess’s chest.