by Jess Lebow
King Korox continued, seemingly unfazed by the commotion. “How dare you come into my house and make demands of me during this time of crisis. How dare you weigh the loss of your profits on the same scale as the life of my daughter.”
Lady Herrin stood before the king with a look of offended horror on her face. Korox scowled back at her.
“Get out,” spat Korox, “or you will have much more than floating citadels and slumping sales to worry about.”
With that, the king turned, walked up the dais, and sat down on his throne.
“Good day, Lady Herrin.” He nodded at Quinn. “Let them up.”
Quinn pulled back and ordered the other men to step away from the downed bodyguards. The Magistrates gave the merchant and her entourage a wide berth, but they kept their swords drawn.
Lady Herrin, her lip curled up in disgust, continued to glare at the king. “You will not get away with speaking to me like that, Korox. This is not over. You will be sorry.”
“Confiscate their weapons and escort them to the gate,” ordered the king. “Inform the guards that they are not allowed back into the palace without a personal summons from me or Senator Divian.” The king paused. “And be quick about it. We have real business to attend to.”
Jingling as she spun, the old merchant and her bodyguards were physically removed from the audience chamber by a host of Magistrates.
Quinn placed his sword back in its scabbard and approached the throne.
“Are you all right, my lord?”
King Korox put his head in his hands and let out a large sigh. “No, Quinn,” he said. “I do not think I am.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, the men have had a bet going for some time.”
The king looked up. “A bet? What does that have to do with anything?”
Quinn smiled. “They’ve been wagering how long it would take you to have that old bag hauled out of here.”
The king chuckled. “Who won?”
“No one,” replied the bodyguard, his smile growing wider. “We all thought you’d have done it ages ago.”
Just then the doors to the throne room burst open again, and Captain Kaden came marching in.
The king stood, unable to contain himself. “Captain, what news of the princess?”
Kaden approached the throne, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, my king, I have not been able to locate her.”
The king slumped back down. His wife had died only a few tendays after he had taken the throne. He would never get used to his life without her. The only comfort he had been able to find was that he still had his daughter. Mariko was all he had left, and now she too had been taken from him.
It wasn’t fair. He was the king. There were so many things he could control. But the disease that had taken his wife was not one of them. And now the princess was missing, and he didn’t know where to look or even for sure who to blame. What good was being the Warrior King if he didn’t have an enemy to fight?
“I am truly sorry, my lord,” continued Kaden. “The effort is in full force. I have my best men out looking for her right now. And I pledge to you that I will continue my personal search tirelessly until we find her. Do not lose hope. I will bring Princess Mariko home safely.”
The king nodded. “Yes, Captain, I’m sure you will.”
“But, my lord, I have not come here to discuss your daughter. I have other news.”
The king was puzzled. “And what would that be?”
“The Obsidian Ridge, my lord. It’s on the move.”
The king leaped from the dais and dashed for the steps that led up to his private chambers. The balcony that had provided him with the perfect view of the Llorbauth valley now had become the best vantage point to track the black citadel that menaced the city.
“Quinn, Kaden, with me!” the king shouted as he charged up the stairs.
The men followed their king, and all three arrived at the top, winded from the climb.
Dashing to the open doors, the king stepped out onto the veranda to see the Obsidian Ridge slowly drifting to the east. It had moved several acres since last he had set eyes upon it. The shadow it cast over the valley had moved directly over the docks.
“In the name of Torm, what is it going to do now?” King Korox rubbed his forehead as he wondered aloud at what new horror his kingdom was on the brink of experiencing.
The floating castle drifted out over Shalane Lake, then came to a complete stop. Everyone in the king’s chamber held their breath as they watched, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
But nothing did. The Obsidian Ridge remained hovering in the air, the edges of its jagged exterior gleaming pitch black in the late morning sun.
The room went silent as the Matron entered. She had been in deep contemplation over these recent developments, and she had finally come to some conclusions.
It was time to share her thoughts with the rest of the council.
All the prominent members of the Erlkazarian underworld were present, and they sat around a long oval table at the center of the dark room. There were no windows, no connection at all to the outside world, only the weak light of mage-lit stones arranged in candelabra on the table. The floor of the room was sunken, the center where the table sat was several steps down from where someone would enter. And the walls were built of thick stone, thicker than many of the castles in this part of Faerûn.
The doors that led into the chamber were built from solid steel. It took the strength of four men to pull them open or slam them closed. At the moment, all of them—except the one leading to the Matron’s private study—were shut and locked. If someone had cared to try to exit through the study, they would have found that there was no physical or magical way out. The walls were built of the same stone as the rest of the room, and the magical wards that protected the area from scrying also protected it from the spells and artifacts that allowed wizards to walk through stone or solid materials.
The Matron stepped down into the center of the room and, adjusting the veil across her face, took her seat at the head of the table. Around the outside of the main chamber, arranged along the walls like ornamental statues, were three dozen armed bodyguards. The men and women seated at this table all had at least one thing in common—they took their personal safety very seriously.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” said the Matron. “We have many things to discuss.”
A chorus of grumbled agreement filled the room.
The Matron raised her hand and the room fell silent again. “By now you have heard that the master of the Obsidian Ridge has made a demand of the king.” She slowly moved her gaze over each and every member of the underworld present before her. “That he turn over his daughter, or Erlkazar will be destroyed.”
Again grumbling.
“Even if the king were willing to make such a sacrifice, he is, as you all know, unable to do so at this very moment,” said the Matron.
“Then we should make his life easy and turn over the princess for him,” shouted a burly, bearded half-orc at the far end of the table.
The comment brought a number of laughs and a small round of agreement.
“I’m afraid that is impossible,” said the Matron. “The princess is no longer within our reach.”
A tall, dark-haired woman wearing a gown that appeared to be laced in the front with thick spider’s silk stood up from her chair. “What do you mean, she’s no longer within our reach? Did you lose her?”
The Matron bristled at the accusation. “We did not lose her.”
“If you did not lose her, then where is she?” pressed the dark-haired woman.
“I have told you,” said the Matron in a calm, even voice. “She is outside of our reach.”
“Why would you let this happen? Did you not have a plan for using her to our advantage?”
The Matron smiled. “Of course I did.”
“Then perhaps you can explain,” responded the spider woman, “h
ow she can be of use to us if she is outside of our reach?”
The Matron took a deep breath and then lifted herself out of her chair. The mage-lit stones on the table flared then subsided, making the room seem darker than it was before. The woman in the spider-silk gown quickly glanced around the table. None of the other invitees would make eye contact with her. Looking at the Matron, she bowed her head and sat down.
“The princess was merely a way for us to manipulate the king,” she started, clearly pleased by her display of power. “His recent involvement in the Elixir trade has begun to take its toll on our profits. The kidnapping of the princess was a message to the king. Any further meddling in our affairs will not be tolerated. If he wants to hit us where it hurts, then we will do the very same to him. No one is safe. No one is outside of our reach, not even the Warrior King, Korox Morkann.”
“But things have changed, Matron,” said a dark-skinned man near her end of the table. He spoke respectfully, but loud enough for the others to hear. “There is more at stake now. The Obsidian Ridge threatens all of Erlkazar. It threatens all of our businesses and our lives.”
“He is right,” agreed another man at the far end of the table. “If Erlkazar is destroyed, who will we sell to? Surely we must change our course.”
The Matron balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. She glared at the collection of underworld figures, daring them with her eyes to challenge her again. When no one spoke, she continued.
“The appearance of the black citadel has only strengthened our ploy,” she explained. “Not only do we have something the king dearly wants back, but now he has further pressure to negotiate with us in a timely fashion.”
“But Matron,” said the dark-skinned man, “you said the princess is outside of our reach. How can we negotiate with the king if we no longer have what he wants?”
The Matron smiled. “But we do have what he wants. We tell him that we have his daughter. That the only way he will get her back and save his entire kingdom is for him to grant our businesses protection above the law. We will tell him he will get his daughter back when he has not only given us his blessing but also his good name as endorsement to our Elixir.”
“This is preposterous.” The spider woman stood up again. “First you tell us the princess is not in our possession, then you tell us she is. You keep talking in circles. But even if you do have her, what’s stopping the king from going back on his word once he has what he wants? There is only one way to keep the seat of power in line—fear. We must assassinate the king, turn his daughter over to the master of the Obsidian Ridge, and reap the benefits of the panic that ensues.”
This brought grumbles of agreement around the table.
“Yes, she is right,” said an elderly man sitting next to her. “The king and his line must be taught a lesson. The damage they have done to our Elixir operations cannot go unpunished.”
“The king is useful to us alive,” said the Matron. “We know him, and we know how to manipulate him. If we kill King Korox, another man will sit on that throne, and we will know nothing of him. We will not waste the valuable knowledge we have now simply because it gives us a shortsighted gain.”
“We cannot sit here and do nothing,” replied the spider woman. “At the very least the Magistrates and their nightly raids must be stopped.”
The Matron shook her head. “The Magistrates we can handle. It’s the Claw we need to worry about.”
Simply mentioning the Claw inside this chamber seemed blasphemous.
The spider woman slammed her fist against the table. “But surely we must do something about the—”
The Matron cut her off. “Do not cross me,” she said. She pointed her finger at the woman. “Up until this point I have been lenient with all of you, but my patience is beginning to fray.” She pressed her chair away, the legs grinding across the floor as she forced it back. “You do not need to know everything at this moment. For now, it is enough that you are aware of my wishes.” She shook her finger, a mother warning her children. “The king is not to be harmed unless I give the word. We will use him and his daughter the way I have intended. Is that understood?”
The figures around the room nodded their understanding.
Gathering her purple robes around her, the Matron walked up the steps. “This meeting is over.” Turning as she got to the edge of her private study, she looked down upon the prominent underworld figures. “You shall be summoned when I wish to tell you more.”
With the wave of her hand, the doors of her study slammed closed, and the locks on the heavy doors that led out of the room dropped open.
chapter eleven
Quinn watched the king pace back and forth across the sitting room floor. Each time he crossed in front of the open balcony doors, he would look out at the obsidian citadel floating over the water, just outside of the docks. It was as if the man thought that maybe, just maybe, if he willed it to be, the whole thing would simply disappear.
Despite his best efforts, the Obsidian Ridge didn’t budge.
The sound of footsteps drifted up the stone stairway, adding their rhythm to that of the king’s pacing. Then the guest who belonged to the footsteps arrived—unannounced—inside the king’s sitting room.
“King Korox,” said Senator Divian, barging into the room, “might I have a word with you?”
Quinn stepped between her and the king, blocking her path. He didn’t go for his weapon, but he left himself enough room to grab it if the need arose.
The senator pulled up short. “What is this?” She looked past Quinn to the king.
Quinn didn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Senator,” he said, raising his hands to make it clear he meant her no offense, “but you came in unannounced. I’m afraid I’m going to have to search you for weapons.” He took a step closer. “Please lift your hands over your head. This won’t take but a moment.”
The senator took a step away from him. “You will not lay a finger on me.” Her voice dropped very low. “Touch me, and you will regret it.”
“Quinn,” the king said. “It’s fine. The senator can be trusted.”
“I’m sure you are right, my lord,” replied Quinn, not backing down. “Senator Divian is without a doubt above reproach, and I give her my sincerest apology. But since we have a magical fortress floating outside our window, illusions and doppelgangers are not outside of the realm of possibility.”
The senator dropped her hands and stood up straight, tugging the front of her robe down and tightening her cloth belt. “Yes, of course,” she said, clearly miffed at having her trustworthiness called into question, but also seemingly swayed by Quinn’s argument.
“I will not touch you,” continued Quinn, running a hand through his blond hair, “but perhaps the senator could humor me by answering a few quick questions.” He took a step back, toward the king, and tried to smile. “Just to let us know that you are indeed who you … well, are.”
Senator Divian crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “Very well,” she said. “Ask your questions.”
“When did King Korox’s wife die?”
“That’s common knowledge,” she said, glancing at the king. “Just after he took the throne.”
“Yes,” replied Quinn. “And what did she die from?”
The senator, a little taken back by the question, gave Quinn a sideways look. “That … that too is well known,” she said. “She contracted a rare and difficult to treat disease, which ultimately proved to be fatal.”
Quinn nodded. “Yes, and how did she contract it?”
Senator Divian uncrossed her arms. Her posture seemed to soften, as if she were saddened by this line of questioning. “She was … she was doing research, at my behest, in the catacombs just outside of Dajaan.” Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her shoulders slumped. “We never learned what she contracted it from.”
Quinn stepped aside. “I am sorry for bringing up such painful memories, Senator. Please forgive me.” He bowed to her, and t
ook a position at the edge of the room.
Senator Divian nodded but didn’t say anything.
After a moment, the king crossed to her and touched her on the shoulder. “Perhaps we should talk in my private chambers,” he said.
Nodding her agreement, she followed him out of the sitting room.
King Korox closed the double doors that led into his private chambers and turned to face the senator.
“I apologize for Quinn,” he said. “We’re all very much on edge with this … thing hanging over our heads. He is no exception.”
Senator Divian took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. “Can I ask you a question?”
The king nodded. “Of course.”
“Do you blame me for the death of your wife?”
King Korox was stunned by her candor. “How can you think that?”
“It’s just that—” She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She wrapped her arms around Korox’s waist and laid her head on his chest.
The king returned her embrace. “She knew the dangers of going into the catacombs. And she went willingly. I do not blame you for anything.”
The senator looked up at the king and smiled. “I just didn’t want to think that …” She paused, looking into his eyes.
Korox leaned down and kissed the senator, cutting off the end of her thought.
“Thank you,” she said, releasing the king from her embrace. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I just feel a little awkward. Though it is not common knowledge to most people that your late wife was helping me with research, it is common knowledge to you. I would hate it if you thought my actions were responsible for you losing your wife.”
“Do you think I would invite you into my private chambers if I did?”
She shook her head. “No. I do not think you would.” Turning away from the king, she strolled to the other side of the room—to the other doors that led out to the private terrace. Throwing them open, she looked out at the forest and the roads beyond, leading south.
Korox watched her as she moved. “But now I have a question for you.”
