Obsidian Ridge (34 page)

Grabbing the reins, Korox threw himself onto the saddle. The aches and pains, the weariness and fatigue all disappeared as his focus turned to just one thing.

“Heyaw!” he shouted, bounding away from the battle toward the statue of his lovely wife and the wretched beast who stood on it, befouling her glory.

Behind him the fate of Erlkazar was being determined. His men, his subjects—his friends—fought off the largest threat the kingdom had ever seen. But at that moment, none of that mattered, nothing else existed. Korox could see only ahead of him—could see only the man who had taken his daughter and tormented his realm.

His sword held high in the air, he urged his loyal steed onward. He was no longer a king. He was no longer a man.

He was a devil with malice in his heart and pure hatred in his veins.

If this was to be the last thing he would do as the King of Erlkazar, then he would gladly trade in his life to do it.

Closing the distance in a matter of moments, Korox could see the look of recognition on Xeries’s face. He smiled as he watched that look turn from understanding to terror. The twisted arch magus raised his arms to cast a spell.

A beam of orange energy shot from Xeries’s hands, howling as it soared toward Korox. Then, just as suddenly as it had been conjured, the beam dissipated, splashing harmlessly against the chest of the king’s black steed.

“But-but that-that was-was the-the finger-finger of-of death—”

His echoed words were cut short as the Warrior King leaped from his saddle. Korox hurled himself forward, both hands on the hilt of his enchanted blade. Like a bird of prey he descended upon Xeries, screeching as he dropped from the heavens to take vengeance on the master of the Obsidian Ridge.

His feet hit first, knocking the arch magus to his back and crushing bones as the withered man absorbed the force of Korox’s impact. Then the king’s blade came down, slicing through flesh, pus, and the withered black heart at the center of this ruined wizard.

Korox dropped to one knee, placing all of his weight down on top of the frail arch magus, holding Xeries to the stone plinth.

“But-but my-my spell-spell…” gurgled Xeries.

Korox’s lip curled up as his hatred bubbled over like a pot left too long on a fire.

“I see you’ve met my wife,” he said, shrugging his chin up at the statue. “She looks after me, even in death.”

The Warrior King twisted his blade, and Xeries convulsed in pain, hissing through blackened teeth. Xeries tried to focus his eyes on the king through all of his pain, but it was clear he was having a hard time. He reached up, opening his mouth to say something, perhaps cast a spell. But it was no use. His whole body trembling around Korox’s blade, the tormentor of Erlkazar let out one final breath—a sound like wind chimes crashing to the ground—then he slumped back, dead at the feet of the king and queen.

+++++

Inside Xeries’s private chamber, the dying gasps of nearly three dozen women echoed off the walls. Their faces bent upward in smiles of relief. Together, each of them released their hold on life, falling finally into a well-deserved rest. Had there been anyone in the chamber to listen, they would have heard all of those final breaths used to utter the words, “Thank you.”

At long last, the chamber was silent.

+++++

The black beasts stopped dead in their tracks—even those in the middle of chewing a soldier to pieces. They closed their fanged mouths. They retracted their scything claws. They stopped moving, and all of them, every single one, sat down on their haunches and hung their heads, right in the middle of the battlefield. They were like obedient dogs, all of which had seemingly been told to lie down.

Silence settled over the blood-strewn grounds surrounding Klarsamryn. The ring of metal and cries of dying men slowly faded It was calm in the heart of Llorbauth for a brief moment.

Then a shout went up across the line of soldiers. Hope had returned.

“Cut them down!” shouted King Korox from behind the battle. He hobbled back toward the fighting, returning from the edge of the courtyard and the now-lifeless body of Arch Magus Xeries.

Every soldier within earshot hacked down upon their stationary foes. Not a one of Xeries’s beasts moved, not a muscle, as King Korox, Lord Purdun, Captain Kaden, and all their men fell upon the enemy.

The beasts that had terrorized Erlkazar only moments before died by the dozens. They did not whimper. They did not cower. They simply waited their turn to be slaughtered.

Their blood ran in rivers across the parched earth.

The Matron could hardly believe her eyes. One moment the end was near for the ruler of Erlkazar. The next he had taken the field. His troops had not suffered as many casualties as she had predicted, and they now outnumbered her assassins more than twenty to one.

“Assassins of Waukeen!” shouted King Korox, as his men surrounded them. “Your treachery here today will not go unpunished. Throw down your weapons, and you will be tried justly. If you resist, you will be killed.”

The Matron’s face burned with anger and frustration. “Do not listen to him! The throne is ours! Take the king! Take Llorbauth by force!”

+++++

Quinn stared up at the three huge floating gemstones. A line had been chiseled into the ground, connecting the base of each to the others. The space in between the rubies described a triangle, large enough to fit nearly fifty men, if they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

Coming a little closer, Quinn reached out to touch the nearest stone. A narrow thread of magical energy lifted away from the ruby and connected with his hand. When it touched him, he could feel every hair on his body stand on end. It was like being too close to a bolt of lightning, yet at the same time, the power coursing through his body was somehow invigorating.

He placed his entire palm on the humming ruby. A hundred other strands of magic reached out to him, creating a thin barrier of energy between his skin and the surface of the stone. As he pulled his hand away, the narrow threads stretched and combined, reaching across the distance to keep contact with his skin. The farther away he got, the fewer, thicker strands connected him to the ruby, until finally he broke the connection and the energy receded back into the floating stone.

Stepping inside the inscribed triangle, he made a connection with the first ruby then reached out his other hand to the second of the three stones. Another stream of energy lifted off its surface and attached itself to his hand.

This time though, as soon as it touched him, his feet were lifted from the ground, and he began to float in the air. He wobbled a bit, his balance a little shaky, as he was sucked in deeper toward the center of the triangle. The third ruby reached out to him as well, lifting him higher into the air as it added its energy to that of the other two. More and more of the magical threads touched his skin, like hands holding him aloft.

It was an extraordinary experience—hanging in midair, suspended between the humming rubies, weightless and free to move as he pleased. By lifting his hands over his head, he could rise toward the ceiling. By lowering them to his sides, he would drop back toward the floor A shift to his right or left would move him around the triangle.

The closer he was to the center, the more control he had. At the edges, he would lose the connection to one of the rubies, and he’d drop a few feet. If he lost the connection to more than one, then he’d fall back to the floor altogether.

His feet touched the ground, and he stepped out of the triangle. Being inside was rather exhilarating, but it was also quite tiring. His heart was beating very quickly, and he sat down, a rest to catch his breath.

“I think this belongs to you.”

Quinn spun to see a man watching him from the other side of the triangle. His face was warped and cast in an orange glow from the humming rubies and their magic. In one hand he held Quinn’s bladed gauntlet.

It took him a moment, but Quinn eventually recognized him. “Jallal.”

“Put this on,” Jallal demanded. “Perhaps it’ll prolong your inevitable death. I’ll enjoy it more that way.”

He threw the weapon at Quinn, tossing it into the triangle.

Tiny threads of energy shot from the gemstones. The magical strands wrapped themselves around the blades, slowing the gauntlet and lifting it high in the air. Reaching the ceiling, it came to a stop, suspended between the rubies at the highest point in the room.

Taking two large steps, Quinn leaped into the triangle, his arms held high over his head. He could feel the gemstones’ magic take hold of him and shoot him into the sky. As he reached the ceiling and his weapon, he kicked his legs out and spun his body around in a somersault. Grabbing his gauntlet as he passed, he flipped over, landing feet first on the ceiling.

Standing upside down, he strapped the gauntlet to his wrist and motioned at Jallal. “I don’t know how you got here,” he said. “But if you want a fight, then I’m happy to oblige. Come and get me.” “•

Jallal stated up through the orange light, a look of confusion on his face. Then his eyes narrowed, and he stepped across the inscribed line on the floor. The moment he made contact with two of the rubies, he was lifted into the air. He hovered not far off the ground, his arms and legs flailing while he got used to the weightlessness.

Quinn didn’t wait for him to find his balance. Diving down on Jallal, he slashed the man across the back of his neck, tumbled over, touched the floor with his feet, then shot back up to the ceiling.

Drops of blood glistened bright red in the strange light of the rubies. They fell from the fresh wounds but did not hit the floor. Instead, they remained floating in midair. Tiny threads of magic reached out to each one.

Jallal growled at the pain of four keen-edged blades ripping his flesh. “I suppose I owe you my thanks. If you hadn’t killed me that night in the slaughterhouse, I never would have been given the gifts I have now.” He straightened, admiring his powerful limbs. Then he turned his glowering gaze up at Quinn. “But you owe me for killing my brother. And I have come to collect on that debt.”

Lifting his arms as he had seen Quinn do, Jallal rose through the air, aided by the magic of the rubies. He brought his wicked-looking sword to beat, holding it out and turning himself into a human javelin as he flew toward the ceiling.

“You and your brother were plotting to kill the king,” said Quinn. “You kidnapped the princess. Both of you deserved to die.”

Quinn watched the man come, waiting for the right moment. When Jallal was almost upon him, he dodged hard to his left, losing his connection with one of the rubies and falling quickly to a spot just a few feet off the floor. Jallal’s outstretched blade missed Quinn by several feet, clanging loudly as it bit into the black stone of the ceiling, sending chips of obsidian showering toward the floor only to be caught up by the magic of the gemstones and suspended in midair.

Now it was Quinn’s turn. Shifting deeper into the center of the triangle, he flew toward the ceiling and grabbed hold of Jallal’s feet. Burying the blades of his gauntlet into the man’s calf just above the hoof, Quinn yanked him sideways and then let go, tossing him out of the triangle.

One by one the threads of energy slipped away from Jallal, until he wasn’t even connected to a single ruby. From high up in the air, he plummeted to the floor, no longer suspended by the humming, levitating magic of the floating gemstones. With a heavy thud, his body slammed to the ground; his head landing last, making a sound like a ripe melon falling from a farmer’s cart. His sword impacted tip first, burying itself in the stone floor beside him.

“Your brother is dead,” said Quinn. “The princess is free, and the Elixir trade in Erlkazar is over.” The magic coursing through his skin filled him with confidence and energy. “You shall never beat me. I’ve won.” He did a back flip, thrilled by the heightened sense of victory and power he now felt.

Far below, Jallal stirred. He was slow to move, holding his head in his hands. After a short while, he sat up and glared at Quinn. Then he moved to his knees.

The fall was not a short one. Most men would have been killed by such an impact, their internal organs simply shattered from crashing into the ground. Jallal was not most men, but even his demon-enhanced body was severely damaged by such a drop.

His sword, still vibrating from the fall, served as a cane, and Jallal lifted himself up off the floor with its aid. He coughed, spitting something into his hand. Then he pulled on the hilt, groaning from the exertion.

The blade slipped free of the floor and lifted easily into the air. The strange sword seemed a natural extension of Jallal’s hands, balanced just right, no strain or fumbling. It just simply moved where he wanted it when he wanted it. Taking several steps back from the triangle, he held the blade waist high behind him, parallel to the floor as if it were his tail.

He hobbled as he walked, clearly staggered from the fall. Then he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a warrior’s stance—poised to fly into battle.

“We shall see how confident you are when you no longer have your little toys,” Jallal said.

Opening his eyes, he took a deep breath and charged across the room. He ran on the tips of his hooves, the wounds from his fall not slowing him. His horns cast a heavy shadow on his head, and his sword glistened orange and red as it cut through the charged air.

Then it impacted the first ruby, shattering it to dust with a single blow.

A huge bang echoed through the chamber and bolts of energy shot out in every direction. Light filled the room, revealing the cracks and crevices on every wall. The threads hissed and popped, reaching out to every imperfection in the obsidian and trying to grab hold.

On the floor, Jallal’s charge carried on. Tiny threads of magic mauled his shoulders, arms, and legs. The energy releasing from the ruby exploded from the ruined gemstone, coveting his whole body in a dance of light. It stretched out

behind him as he ran several more steps, long curving strands of magic trailing to catch up.