by Jess Lebow
The king turned his attention to the carnage on the floor of his private chamber. Four guards lay dead, two on the terrace, two inside the room itself. It was clear from the wounds that they had been dispatched by the two half-orcs now also dead on the floor.
The assassins, however, had suffered a far worse fate. Their bodies were shredded, one with a huge bite out of its abdomen.
“It’s a good thing we arrived when we did,” said Kaden, eyeing the half-orcs.
“I’m not sure it was a matter of timing,” replied the king. “If that creature had really wanted to kill me, it had plenty of time.”
“Do you think Xeries is working with the Matron?” Captain Kaden toed the creature’s dead body. “That would explain why this beast and the half-orcs are here.”
The king shook his head. “I don’t know. If the Matron kidnapped my daughter to turn her over to Xeries, then why hasn’t she done that? What can she gain from all of this posturing? And why would she offer to help fight Xeries then send assassins to my bedroom?” He stepped over one of the fallen killers. “And from the looks of things, these two”—he pointed at the beast and at one of the half-orcs—“didn’t like each other much.”
The king moved to a nearby table and poured some water into a basin from a clay pitcher. He dabbed a piece of cloth in the water and began wiping the blood from his arm.
“There is one person who I believe, with the proper motivation, can shed some more light on this.” He looked up from his gruesome work. “Have Whitman brought up from the dungeon. I wish to interrogate him further.”
Through the open door, the sounds of men shouting and fighting caught the king’s ear.
“What now?” he growled.
King Korox and Captain Kaden burst out into the hall. Magistrates ran past, toward the entry and the audience chamber.
Captain Kaden grabbed a Magistrate as he darted by. “What’s happening, soldier?”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said, saluting quickly. “I thought you had heard. Klarsamryn is under attack.”
Quinn found himself once again crawling through a dark tunnel, following a woman he hardly knew.
Time was running short. He’d been down here for nearly a full day now and had less than nothing to show for his efforts. If he didn’t find Mariko soon … well, he didn’t want to think about the options.
The tunnel opened into a wider passage similar to the one Quinn had traversed when he had first arrived in the Cellar. It seemed since he had met Evelyne, he hadn’t used any of the hallways intended for actual travel.
“We can rest here a moment,” said Evelyne, getting to her feet and stretching her back.
“Where to next?” Quinn examined the walls. No water here.
Evelyne shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “That cavern was my best guess. I figure we’ll just have to wander around a bit and hope we find this lost princess of yours.” She touched her toes, twisted, then hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “There’s another tunnel not far this way—”
“No.” Quinn cut her off. “No more tunnels.”
“Look, it’s the safest—”
“I said no. If there is one thing I know about the princess, it’s that she’s not crawling around on her hands and knees in the cracks between the walls. If we have any chance of finding her, if we’re going to stumble around here blindly hoping that we run into her, then we need to cover the ground that she and her captors are using.”
“Her captors? You didn’t mention captors.”
“Why else would she be down here?”
“Same reason as me, maybe.”
“And what reason is that?” asked Quinn.
“Because I crossed someone I shouldn’t.”
“You mean you broke the law, and you were sentenced to this place by the king.”
“It wasn’t the king,” said Evelyne, smiling. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t have approved of my behavior.”
“Well,” said Quinn, not quite sure what she meant. “Maybe we’re better off leaving it at that. Come.” He turned and headed down the passageway, placing his right hand on the wall as he walked. “When I was in the army, my captain used to say, ‘When in doubt, follow the wall to the right. Eventually, you’ll find what you’re looking for.’ ”
“Sounds like a dumb captain,” replied Evelyne, reluctantly falling into step behind him. “But I guess since we don’t know where we’re going, this way is as good as any.”
chapter twenty-four
Korox lifted his arms and let the fine elven chain shirt with his twin red wyvern crest slip over his body. Squires dashed back and forth, bringing the king his weapons and armor. He walked as he dressed, pieces clinging to him as he went. With each step he transformed. Though he was tall and broad shouldered, he became larger than life. His boots gave him more height. His armor made him more imposing. His sword made him more dangerous, and his helm made him look mean.
Captain Kaden stood beside the door, twitching and pacing. He gripped the hilt of his sword even though it was firmly planted in its sheath. The king could tell he was ready for battle. And that was good. Korox was going to need all of his men to be ready.
Slipping his sword into his belt, the king stepped up beside the head of the Magistrates and slapped him on the arm.
“Let’s go take back our palace,” said Korox.
The two men stepped out of the door and made their way down the hall.
In the short time between being attacked in his bed and pulling on his armor, the portcullis had been breached and the great hall swamped with invaders. This was the first time since Erlkazar had become a country independent from Tethyr that the halls of its capitol had been breached by an enemy.
King Korox picked up his pace. Today was not going to be the day Klarsamryn fell.
Down the hall and through his private entrance, King Korox and Captain Kaden stepped into the audience chamber—and into the pages of history.
What had been designed as a place of peace, a place of negotiations, a place where the ruler of Erlkazar could conduct his business without being perceived as a tyrant, there now raged a horrific battle.
Malicious, misshapen beasts from the Obsidian Ridge swarmed in every corner. They blotted out the light. Anything bright or good about this room was swallowed by their darkness and evil. The white marble floor ran red with blood. The statues that adorned the outer wall were all torn from their stands, many smashed to bits. Even the ceiling, with its painted reminder of the dark days of Eleint, was not left unscathed—a soldier’s sword jutted from the stone overhead, its edge dripping with black ichor.
In the center of it all, Magistrates stood back to back, their swords striking in unison, their movements frantic as they fought for their lives. Mixed into the melee were soldiers from the regular army, their uniforms less elaborate, but their skill in battle no less sharp. And on the edge, spilling from the many secret doors that fed into and out of this chamber, came the Watchers, Princess Mariko’s spies and the king’s eyes in Erlkazar.
The seat of power was under attack. Lines of battle and discipline had broken down, devolving into a free-for-all. One look at the faces of the men and women fighting to defend the throne of their king and it was clear. Everything they stood for, everything they had ever held sacred, was in jeopardy, and they fought now not just for honor and duty. They fought now because this fight was all they had left, for if they did not win, all that they knew would be gone.
King Korox Morkann pulled his enchanted blade from its sheath. With one step and one stroke, he cut down a black beast. With another step and another swing, he cut down a second. And so it continued, Captain Kaden at his side. The King of Erlkazar fought his way to the center of this swirling melee. He fought his way through the teeth and the mass of twisted blackened muscle until he reached his throne on its dais.
Dispatching the beast that sat upon it, he placed his foot upon the seat and lifted himself up to stand above the fight. There, poised ato
p his throne, Korox lifted his sword high in the air, looking down on his soldiers, the Magistrates, and the Watchers.
“For Erlkazar!” he shouted.
And in the next moment, he disappeared from view, buried by a pile of shiny black flesh.
Quinn made his way through the dark passage, the spell cast on his open palm lighting his way. He scanned ahead as he marched, not sure what he would find but hoping that he found it before it found him.
He waved his magical light over the wall at the next corner—and it lit up like the full moon on the clearest of nights.
“Trap!” shouted Evelyne, dodging back.
But Quinn shook her off. “Shh. This is no trap.”
Stepping up to the stone, he traced the line of light with his index finger, mimicking the lit symbol that had appeared when his own light had hit it. For the first time since arriving in the Cellar he finally had some hope.
“What are you doing?” Evelyne came up behind him, still cautious.
Quinn smiled at her and lifted his hand, showing her the glowing symbol on his palm—it perfectly matched the one on the wall.
“It’s the princess’s sigil,” he said. “She’s alive, or was not that long ago.” His smile grew even wider, and he pulled Evelyne along down the hallway. “Hurry. We’re on the right track.”
A gasp went up in the audience chamber as Korox disappeared under a pile of black creatures.
“To the king!” shouted Captain Kaden.
The grunted exertions of men and the sound of metal cutting into flesh grew to a cacophony. This was not the entirety of Erlkazar’s fighting forces, not even close, but each of the nearly one thousand warriors who fought inside the palace had become a berserker. Each had found the strength of ten soldiers. And blood continued to spill, as those warriors fought and died.
They moved as a group, each trying to reach the same goal, converging on the back center of the audience chamber and the raised dais that was now a swarming mass of shiny black beasts. They hacked, shoved, and slashed, aware even without words that every strike counted, that every moment they were unable to see their king meant that the chances of him coming back to them was diminished. And they fought all the harder for it.
A shout rang out through the hall. This was not the sound of a dying man. It was not the horror of a solider being torn to bits or the shriek of pain the beasts let out when pinned to the floor. No, this was the victorious shout of a conqueror, the sound of a man who led through not only his words but also his actions.
It was the defiant roar of a king.
The mass of twisting black flesh burst up and away from the throne. And in the middle, appearing from the attacking beasts like a phoenix from the flames, Korox Morkann arose.
His helm had been torn from his head. Bits of blackened flesh streaked his armor. Blood covered his face. But he arose nonetheless, a beacon in the dark, a sight to behold in the middle of his besieged audience chamber.
“To me!” he shouted.
The king cut down the black beasts with each swing of his blade. His soldiers pressed in, clearing the floor between them and him until finally they had reached their goal. Until they were beside him.
Regrouped at the top of the room, the king led his army onward. Diving back into the flood of attackers, he made them pay for their impudence—and they made him pay right back. For every beast the king and his warriors slew, two soldiers fell.
It was a war of attrition. Had he stopped to think about it, Korox would never have fought this way. He never would have willingly sacrificed so many of his brave men and women to fight such a foe. But he had not started this war, nor had he picked this battlefield.
Slowly the audience chamber cleared. Slowly they grew closer to victory, pressing the invaders in an organized fashion out the door and toward the portcullis. If they had to, they would clear Klarsamryn one room at a time until they took back that what belonged to them.
Bursting through, they swept into the great hall, pushing back the invaders all the while. Victory was within reach. The light at the end of the chamber came in over the drawbridge. If they could reach the entrance, they could win back the day.
Mere moments away from completing their victory, their momentum stalled. Their push came to a halt as the light at the end of the drawbridge went black and a huge second wave of beasts from the Obsidian Ridge crashed into the front of the palace.
It flooded past the portcullis, swamping the great hall, turning the tide on King Korox and his warriors.
The creatures scampered up the walls, filled the ceiling, and surrounded the remainder of the Erlkazarians in the great hall. The king’s offensive became a defensive, and the surviving warriors encircled their king, preparing to fight to the death. The beasts closed on them, their numbers growing by the moment.
Then, just as quickly as they had arrived, the creatures stopped. They held their ground, pawing at the floor, growling at the soldiers, their advance halted.
“What are they doing?” asked Captain Kaden, his eyes wide, his back to the king.
“I do not know,” replied Korox, breathing hard from the exertion. “But something tells me we’re about to find out.”
The mob of horrific beasts parted, lining up in an organized row and leaving a narrow passage that stretched out under the portcullis and across the drawbridge. What had been a chaotic, bloodthirsty horde had become a disciplined, organized army standing at attention.
Down the center of their ranks walked a hunched, disfigured man.
He wore the trappings of a mage—robes instead of armor, a wand in his belt instead of a sword, and wrinkles upon his face instead of scars. He walked upright on two legs, had two eyes, arms, and hands, but that was where the similarity between this figure and the rest of humanity ended.
His spine curved over itself as if it were trying to turn his whole body into a giant question mark. His back rose higher than his head, one shoulder more elevated than the other, and was marked mostly by a large, misshapen hump. His face, covered in blackened boils, was caved in, making his eyes bulge as he scanned the waiting beasts along the drawbridge.
Despite his disfigurement, the man was actually quite tall, due mostly to the length of his long, spindly limbs, which he used to great effect, moving through Klarsamryn at a rapid clip.
Arriving before the circle of Erlkazarian warriors, the man peered into the crowd.
“I am Arch Magus Xeries,” he announced, his voice echoing as if two people were speaking his words at the same time. “I demand to see your king.”
King Korox pushed his way through the Magistrates, Watchers, and soldiers. Each one he passed, he reassured with a knowing glance or a quick word.
“Don’t go, my lord,” pleaded a blood-covered man. “He would have to kill us all to get to you.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that,” replied the king.
He moved on, his warriors reluctantly stepping aside. When he reached the edge of the compact circle, he stepped through, into the opening the beasts had made, and looked up at the disfigured man.
“I am King Korox Morkann, ruler of Erlkazar.”
Xeries examined Korox, as if using some invisible test to prove the validity of his claim. After a moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied that this was indeed the man he was looking for.
“I will make this brief,” said Xeries. “I am losing patience with you. I have come personally to collect your daughter. Where is she? I want her now.”
King Korox took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I wish I knew,” he said. “My daughter has been missing for four days now.”
“Do-do not-not toy-toy with-with me-me, mortal–mortal!” shouted Xeries, his voice rising, exaggerating the echo and making it sound as if he were repeating himself.
King Korox looked back at the soldiers then again up at Xeries. Even if he did know where his daughter was, he still hadn’t decided if he would turn her over to this monster. Weighing his personal feelings
against the needs of the kingdom, there was no one clear choice.
“I am not one to waste the lives of my people so carelessly,” said Korox. “I simply cannot give you what you ask for. It is not within my power.”
“Then make it within your power,” demanded the arch magus. “For every day that you make me wait, a new terror will be visited upon these lands. The first day the crops will wither and die. On the second day, the water will dry up, turning everything for as far as the eye can see into a desert. And on the third day”—he waved his spindly arms, encompassing the beasts beside and behind him—“I will unleash the rest of my army and lay waste to all of Erlkazar.”
Xeries pulled his arms back into his body, making himself much smaller. “I shall take your daughter from your own hands or from the ruins of your kingdom. Either way, she will be mine.”
chapter twenty-five
There she is,” whispered Quinn. “She’s still alive.”
He had followed Mariko’s trail of personal runes all the way to this … place. It wasn’t a cave, or a room, or anything like any of the other spaces he had seen inside the Cellar. If he had to describe it, he would have said it was more like a mansion, carved from stone, right in the middle of the hallway. The passage they had traversed had simply grown wider, and there it was—a huge replica of an opulent home, chiseled out of the natural cave.
Someone had taken great care to recreate every detail. It had open windows and balconies. It had doors and a porch. It even had a tiled roof—which was where Quinn and Evelyne now perched.
They looked down into a courtyard in the middle of the mansion. Almost a dozen of Erlkazar’s lesser-known underworld figures were present. They busily moved back and forth between three fully functional Elixir distilleries. They had managed to turn the confines and horrors of the Cellar into a hub for their illegal business. How they got here, and more importantly, how they returned, were questions to which Quinn did not have the answers.
Then he saw something even more puzzling.
