Obsidian Ridge

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Matron stepped from her private chamber and descended the steps into the meeting room.

The seats around the heavy wooden table were full. All the underworld's players were here. She knew what they wanted, and she hated them for it. Weak, impatient, short sighted fools-all of them. Not one had vision. Not one could see beyond the end of the day.

How was she supposed to take charge of the entire kingdom if her cohorts couldn't resist reacting like children to every crisis? How could she plot any long-term progress if they were all content with petty theft and minor smuggling?

Someone had to think about the future, about the underworld’s relationship with the throne. There was coin to be made, lots of it, if only she could complete her alliance with the king. Weaken him, put King Korox in their debt, make him afraid-and then everything they could ever want would be theirs.

How could they not see it? How could they not understand her taking advantage of this situation? The underworld had his daughter. The kingdom was under the threat of the Obsidian Ridge. The king needed them. They held all the cards, yet these fools wanted to quit the game. They wanted to turn over the princess and be done with it.

How could they call themselves criminals when they had no nerve?

"Matron," said the woman in the spider-silk dress, "the reason we have called this meeting-"

"I know what it is you want," she spat. "What I don't know is how all of you can be so foolish."

"It is you who is foolish!" shouted Kleegor from his chair halfway down the middle of the table. The half-ore snorted as he spoke. "You are putting our businesses in danger and risking everything we have built. It is within your power to fix this situation, but you refuse."

"Yes, I do refuse," said the Matron. "This situation, as you call it, has given us the opportunity to solidify our power in this kingdom for the foreseeable future. Yet you would rather suffer the indignation of being bound by King Korox's unjust laws, milking out what little you can until it becomes too difficult for you to continue."

She looked around. "What is it you plan to do when all of this is gone? What is it you will do when the Magistrates and the Claw have torn down the docks and made it impossible for any of us to do business?"

"That will never happen," said the spider woman.

"Yes, it will," replied the Matron. "And it will happen sooner than you think. That is why we must stay the course. We must use the arrival of the Obsidian Ridge to our advantage. We can form an alliance with the king, put him in our pocket, make him a partner to our crimes."

She smiled. "Then for as long as he lives, we will have free reign of Erlkazar. We will control the laws and the tariffs and the distribution of wealth. We will have everything we have ever wanted."

The Matron leaned on the table, her voice growing serious. "We can give the king everything he wants, and he is willing to give that to us as well. But not if we turn his daughter over. Not if we do not ally with him and bring our mages to his convocation. If we give up now, if we simply turn the princess over to this Xeries, then we have gained nothing."

The heavy steel doors complained as they opened.

The Matron was already in a foul mood, and this unexpected interruption was not helping.

Into the chamber came one of Jallal Tasca's guards, escorted by four of the Matron's own armed soldiers. The woman looked as if she'd just been dragged through a bonfire. Dozens of tiny burn marks covered her clothing, and ash and blood smeared her face.

She bowed as she entered, staying on the top step.

"Matron, please forgive the intrusion, but I have grave news."

"You may speak."

"It's the Claw, Matron. He's killed the Tascas and liberated Princess Mariko from the Cellar." „

The room exploded in hushed mutterings and angry accusations.

"You see!" shouted Kleegor. "You were playing with fire, and now we are all going to burn."

"Choose carefully your words here, Kleegor," warned the Matron.

The half-ore stood to address the room. "We do not have the princess. The decision to turn her over is no longer in our hands." He turned to the Matron. "You want to rule Erlkazar? You had your chance to save the kingdom. You had the chance to make the choice. The king was powerless. But now you have wasted the opportunity trying to turn it into more than it was. The king will never turn over his daughter. He knows we have the power to help him stop Xeries, and he'll assume that we'll use it to help ourselves. We no longer have a choice."

"What do you propose we do?" asked the spider woman.

"There is only one clear path," said Kleegor. "We must kill the king and force the palace to turn over the princess."

"Idiot," the Matron fumed underneath her veil. "If and when we kill the king, it will be when I tell you to kill the king. If this is done wrong, all of Erlkazar will be up in arms against us or worse, in ashes. The king will become a martyr, and we will continue to be hunted by Xeries's beasts. Our businesses have thrived for hundreds of years by being inconspicuous. If Erlkazar is destroyed, we have nothing."

"You should have thought of that before you started this game," said Kleegor.

The Matron lifted her hand and pointed at Kleegor. An army of guards rushed into the meeting room from the open steel doors. Four of them grabbed hold of the half-ore, while two others pressed sharpened steel against his back.

"Stop!" shouted Kleegor. "What are you doing? You can't do this!"

The guards held firm, and no one in the room moved to help him.

"I warned you." The Matron stepped out from the table and made her way to the half-orc. "But you did not listen." She placed her hand on Kleegor's chest. "And now your poison words will be your undoing."

Her hand flared with power, and the half-ore doubled over in pain. His arms went weak, his face pale, and he vomited on the table, the contents of his stomach spilling over everyone within two chairs. No longer able to struggle against the guards, they held him up, keeping the half-ore from falling to the ground.

"What have you done to him?" asked the woman in the spider-silk dress, her words whispered and horrified.

"I have simply given him a taste of his own poison." Returning to the head of the table, she nodded to the guards.

They placed the sickened Kleegor back in his seat, testing his head in the puddle of vomit.

"The Claw will return the princess to her father," said the Matron, addressing the collected underworld bosses. "We must make sure the king doesn't do anything foolish. I will send him a message, reiterating our deal to help him combat Xeries. If he thinks there is a chance that he can keep his daughter, he will take it, and he will still be in our debt."

"And what of the Claw?" shouted a man in garish robes at the far end.

"The Claw is a different story," she said, her veil fluttering with the force of her words. "He must die."

King Korox stood in the middle of the great hall, piles of dead soldiers and beasts littering the floor.

"Do you see this?" He pointed to the blood and the ruined lives. "Are you looking?"

Whitman stood before him, his hands and legs in heavy shackles. Bruises and dried cuts covered his face. He didn't look at the king. He didn't look at the mess around him. He just stared at his bare feet.

Korox grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him over to the corpse of a young solider.

"Do you see that?" He shoved Whitman to the ground, forcing his face over the dead solider. "He was still a boy, less than half your age."

Korox dragged Whitman, still on his knees, to look at a slain Watcher. "How about her? Was your treachery worth her life?"

Whitman said nothing.

"I'm going to ask you this once, and you're going to answer me, or so help me I will cut you down right here and hang your dead body from the front of the palace." The king placed his sword under Whitman's neck. "What is it the Matron wants? What is all of this about?"

Whitman looked down at the king's sword, piercing the skin on his throat. He swallowed hard. "She wants you in her debt." He lowered his eyes. "She thought that if she took your daughter, that you would be willing to turn a blind eye to her Elixir business in exchange for Mariko's safe return."

"And the Obsidian Ridge?" prompted the king.

"She had nothing to do with that. When it arrived, she was as surprised as you. But she saw it as a further opportunity to draw you into her plans."

The king pulled his sword away from Whitman's throat. "She offered to help with the convocation as a way to get influence in the court."

Whitman sat back on his heels, a completely beaten man. "And her chance to take from you a powerful weapon."

"The Claw," said the king.

Whitman nodded.

"Who is she?"

Whitman looked puzzled. "Who?"

"Yes," said the king, raising his blade again. "What is her name? Tell me her identity."

Whitman shook his head. "I do not know."

Korox dropped his knee down on the ex-scribe's chest, lowering his entire weight-full armor and all-onto the man. "I will ask you this only one more time. What is her name?"

Whitman struggled to keep himself upright, his back straining under the extra weight, threatening to break. "I swear to-you. I do not know. She keeps her face covered, her identity a secret."

The king stood. "Take him back to the dungeon," he ordered a nearby Magistrate.

Whitman fell over sideways, a gushing sob ushering from his lips as he was dragged out of the room.

Korox watched the man he had once trusted with all of his words disappear from the great hall in shackles. His reign as king was in danger of being characterized simply by the string of betrayals from his advisors and servants.

"Father!"

Korox turned away from Whitman to see his daughter standing at the door to the audience chamber. "Mariko?" He rushed to her side and wrapped her in an embrace. "I wasn't sure I was going to ever lay eyes upon you again."

She smiled at him. "There were some moments there where I thought the same thing." The princess traced the path of bodies across the floor with her eyes. "What happened here?"

"Erlkazar is in grave danger," he said. "We're at war."

"Quinn mentioned that."

Behind her, the Claw entered the great hall, his mask missing.

The king glanced to his assassin, then to his daughter. "Then I guess you've heard about Arch Magus Xeries and his demands."

The princess nodded. "Yes." She looked up at him with her chin pointed to the ground. If she had been wearing spectacles, she would have been staring over the tops of the rims.

The king had seen that look before. Her mother used to give it to him on a regular basis. "Mariko, you can't believe that I want to turn you over to that man. That has never been my intention."

"I'm sure you will do what is best for the kingdom," she replied, not changing the look.

"I'm glad someone thinks so." King Korox Morkann took another look at his daughter. It seemed he hadn't seen her for ages. Indeed, whatever she had been through had made her look older, wiser-a lot like her mother in fact.

"Let me tell you what has happened while you were away." He touched Mariko's elbow and gently directed her down the hall. "Perhaps you will have a clearer view of what our best course of action may be."

She looked like her mother, had the same stern look as her mother, maybe she'd have sage advice, like her mother always had.