Obsidian Ridge

Chapter Thirty-Six

Quinn and Mariko climbed out of the chamber into a lava tube right behind the wall. Once they were all free, Evelyne started down the corridor.

"This is the way we came in," said Evelyne. "I figure it'll be the way out as well."

Mariko followed, but Quinn did not.

"You two go on," he said. "I must finish my mission."

"Your mission?" asked Evelyne. "We got your girl. What more do you want?"

"I told the king I'd take down the citadel, and I think I know how to do it."

"The huge rubies you told me about?" asked Mariko through the mimmio.

"That's right," replied Quinn. "I'm going to destroy them and this place with it."

"We'll go with you," said Maliko.

Quinn took her by the arms and gave her a long, slow kiss. "Your father will need your help. Go to him. I'll be right behind you."

"But…"

Quinn cut her off with another long kiss. "No time to argue. Your father is in danger, and he may think that I've betrayed him. Find him. Protect him. Then we can be together-when this is all over."

"Listen to your man, honey," said Evelyne. "We'll get to getting, and he'll do whatever it is that a man's got to do. Leave the romance part for later."

There was a screeching sound behind them, coming from the chamber they had just left.

"Hurry now," said Quinn. "No sense in getting caught again."

Mariko nodded. Then, giving him one last kiss good-bye, she and Evelyne slipped down the hall.

Quinn watched them go, thinking that he had spent a lot of time lately doing exactly that. When she disappeared into the darkness, he turned and went the other way down the lava tube.

In the middle of the swirling melee, where men fought and died, where the future of a kingdom lay at stake, a friendship turned the tides.

"Get up, Korox."

The Warrior King, Korox Morkann of Erlkazar, sat on his knees-in the center of the battlefield. His sword lay on the ground before him. His face rested in his hands. He recognized the voice. Lord Purdun, the Baron of Ahlarkhem, old friend and brother-in-law to the king, stood before him, defending Korox against the onslaught of fighters.

"I have nothing left," he said, shaking his head. "I have doomed my kingdom to save my daughter, and now I have lost everything."

"This is not the man I know." Another would-be assassin went sprawling to the ground, split across the belly by Lord Purdun's sword. "What would your father think if he saw you now? Where would we be if he had given up when his wife, your mother, was killed?"

"He did not lose everything," said the king. "He had me, and his daughter-your wife."

"And you still have me, and your sister, and a kingdom that needs your leadership if it is going to survive."

Purdun spun to catch another assassin just under the chin, taking his jaw from his face with a single blow and sending the man reeling-no longer able to scream.

Korox took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of his old friend. "We fought hard to get here," he said, remembering the battles they had won when they both had called themselves Crusaders.

"And we must fight hard to stay here," said the Baron of Ahlarkhem, pausing long enough to cleave the golden-haired symbol of Waukeen from the chest of an incoming assassin and add him to the pile of dead at his feet. "The tides have turned against us, and only you can turn them back."

Korox looked out at the battlefield. He did not know exactly how long he had been wallowing in self pity. However long it was, it had been too long, and things had changed.

Xeries's army had them surrounded. The assassins of Waukeen had turned back against him and his men, and most surprisingly-the Matron had arrived. She spurred her forces onward, her veil flowing in the afternoon breeze, casting spells into the battle at her whim.

She had come here to see him removed from the throne. She had come to see him killed at the hands of her assassins.

Korox picked up his sword and hefted it toward Lord Purdun in a salute.

"You are right, my friend-my brother. I have a duty to uphold, and I owe you a debt of gratitude."

Purdun bowed his head. "I am your humble servant."

"Then you will fight by my side, one more time?"

The Baron of Ahlarkhem smiled. "One more time would be an honor. Let us hope it is not the last."

With that, the two men charged back into the fray, pushing their way past the Magistrates, Watchers, mages, and elite guards to cut into those who would threaten their home, their kingdom, and the nation they fought so hard to free from the rule of Tethyr.

The Matron had been successful in turning her assassins back to the task of killing King Korox, but it had been a poor tactical decision. Xeries's army of beasts did not take the time to distinguish between those fighting the king and those fighting with the king. The obsidian beasts mauled and ripped and macerated everything in their path.

The Matron's desire to take the throne had trapped her minions between two foes, and now they paid the price. The assassins had been compelled to turn their attention away from the invaders to attack the king and his troops. For their efforts, they were simply chewed to pieces from behind. The beasts came at them with their mouths agape, killing a man in one bite, a half-ore in two.

Praying to the goddess Waukeen as fast as she could, the Matron tried to aid her followers. Where one took a wound, another was healed. Where one was outnumbered, he suddenly found himself with the strength of four men. But no matter how fast she countered the beasts of Xeries, she was still not fast enough.

Realizing her error, the Matron called her men back. "To me, my assassins!" she ordered. "We let the beasts fight the king and his troops, then we move in for the kill."

Casting one final spell, the Matron inscribed a magical circle on the ground-a protective ward that would make it more difficult for the black creatures to reach her and those near her.

"Give them a reason to eat the other soldiers first," she said, smiling at the cunning of her plan. "The path of least resistance leads directly to Korox and his men."

Her assassins fell back to her and the protective circle.

Some were cut down in the process, but it was no matter. The Matron only needed enough to mop up whoever managed to survive the onslaught.

A few more than twenty of her minions made it back to her side. The black beasts lunged at them, their open mouths drooling in anticipation, but they were held back, blocked by the magic powers of the goddess Waukeen.

They jumped and clawed, growled and hissed at the invisible wall, but none of them managed to make it through. Though they were stupid creatures, they eventually tired of trying to get past the Matron's barrier. Then they turned their full attention toward the king and the rest of his men.

"This is it," said the Matron. "Our hour of victory is at hand." She straightened her veil, eager to see King Korox Morkann fall and the throne of Erlkazar become-open for her to plunder.

+++++

On the edge of the battlefield, Quinn stopped to look for something. There was little left here, only dead grass and barren trees, the reminders of the king's disobedience.

The desolation made him smile.

Scanning farther along, past the edge of the square buildings and ruined shrubbery, he found what he wanted.

"That'll do nicely." He walked to the tall statue of a rather regal-looking woman holding a book, seemingly engrossed in its pages.

The plinth that she stood upon was nearly the full height of a man-perfect for him to perch on and watch his black beasts punish the foolish king and his followers. Grabbing hold of the stone edge, he struggled to pull himself up.

With some effort, he managed to get to his feet to stand beside the woman and look out at the battle that raged in the courtyard. As soon as he did, the stone beneath him began to vibrate, almost like the soft undulations of the Obsidian

Ridge. The feeling was rather comforting, and it made the victory he was about to witness that much more pleasant.

A wind began to blow, ruffling the dry grass and the robes of the man on the plinth. Mores of white light and tiny glowing orange orbs floated up from him, swirling around each other, once, twice, then shooting out in all different directions.

Quinn's body began to transform. Muscular arms, straight back, and smooth skin withered and bent, becoming a hunched, pock-marked monstrosity. Buboes and pus-filled lumps appeared. His armor and cape morphed into oddly cut wizard's robes.

The magical visage of Quinn fell away, leaving behind only a twisted and decrepit overlord.

When the transformation was complete, the wind died.

"That's very strange," said Xeries, his voice and appearance having returned to their true forms. "I did not release that spell."

He looked up at the carved stone woman standing beside him. She seemed to be looking right back at him, her eyes fixed on a single spot.

A strange chill ran down his spine.

Shaking it off, he let out a timid snicker. "Don't be foolish Xeries," he said to himself. "It's only a statue."

Turning back to the battle at hand, he let out another laugh, this one louder. The arch magus sounded like wind chimes as he reveled in his soon-to-be victory.

The twin red wyverns on his chest had all but disappeared under a thick coat of blood and gore. King Korox stood beside Lord Purdun. It seemed the two men were eternally fighting for the freedom of their kingdom. Perhaps that was their fare, to fight and die for what they believed in.

Pulling his blade from another downed opponent, the

Warrior King surveyed the battlefield. His men were pinned, and the Matron had found a way to turn the black beasts' attention away from her own assassins. The tide of this battle had shifted so many times that he was starting to lose count. He was tired, and so too were the men who fought at his behest.

That's when he spotted Quinn.

The man he had trusted with the life of his daughter had failed him, had betrayed him. Now, it seemed, his one-time bodyguard was going to climb atop the memorial statue of the queen and mock Korox in his final moments.

Spheres of orange and white light shot up into the air over the statue. Korox rubbed his eyes, not sure if what he just saw had actually happened. He looked again. Quinn was hunched over, his body twisted and bent.

That wasn't Quinn at all. It was Xeries.

Spinning around, Korox put his fingers to his lips and let out a short, shrill whistle. Then a second. The sound of a horse whinnying rose over the clashing melee, and the king's own black war steed, wounded as it was, appeared at the edge of the fighting. Its heavy hooves stomped down a pair of black beasts as it galloped obediently toward its master.

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.